A Hundred White Feathers
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: My fanfic100 challenge response. The lives and existences of Aziraphale and those close to him from before the Beginning to modern times. SLASH MichaelLucifer, RaphaelGabriel, and Michael Uriel, future SLASH CrowleyAziraphale.
1. Beginnings

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** This fic shall contain my responses to the fanfic100 challenge. For those who are unfamiliar with it, the rules are simple: One may claim a character, pairing, or a group of characters. Then they have to write 100 fics, at least 100 words each, centered around their claimed item. Each of these fics must be somehow connected to one of the 100 prompts provided.

Anyway, I claimed Aziraphale, and, insane as I am, I'm trying to form this all into a 100-chaptered fic. I'll try to post a new chapter at least once a week, like recommended, but that's the only promise I'm making: I'll _try_.

**Pairings:** Gabriel/Raphael, Michael/Lucifer, later Michael/Uriel and Aziraphale/Crowley

**

* * *

A Hundred White Feathers**

**001. Beginnings**

* * *

Before the beginning, there was no light. There was no land, either, nor water -- there hardly was even darkness, just existence. In this timeless world -- for not even time had yet become an issue on the Universal To-Do List -- beings of spirit floated around. They might have been creatures of light, had there been such a thing; as it was, they simply went by the name of angels amidst the emptiness of what was yet to become the world. 

And, in this prelude of being, a little baby angel suddenly came into existence.

For a moment the child just lay there, happily floating in the middle of nothingness. Bright azure blue eyes searched the not-quite-darkness for something to see, a curious mind recording what little it could of its surroundings and the ethereal body it was closed in. Coming across the secrets of producing sounds, the baby angel giggled, delighted to have so many new things to find and learn.

And then, the baby saw something. At first it was just a pair of eyes, filled with exactly the same shade of blue as those of the child. Then there was a gentle smile, and a beautiful, melodic voice. "My, my," the voice said, the smile evident even in those words. "What do we have here?"

Now gentle hands lifted the baby, and then the little angel found himself being cradled in secure arms. "You are such a little dear, aren't you?" asked the adult angel. "You need somebody to take care of you."

The baby gurgled happily in agreement. With a cute little grin he flapped his tiny wings a bit.

At that, the adult angel laughed. "Very well, my dear," he said. "I shall take you as my little brother. My name is Gabriel, little dear. And, as for now, you shall be known as... Aziraphale."

The baby now called Aziraphale smiled. He felt safe in these strong yet slender arms. And, after one last giggle at his newly acquired big brother, he then fell asleep without a worry in his little mind.

Yet again a gentle smile crossed the face of the angel known as Gabriel as he glanced down at the baby. The previously colourless hair was now exactly the same hue of golden brown as his was. Petting the hair once, twice, he then simply let the smaller being sleep, feeling oddly content.

And that was one beginning.

* * *

"Hi, Gabriel!" called out a cheerful voice. "I was just looking for you! I -- oh, my, who is this little one?" 

"Hi, Raphael," replied the brunet adult angel. "Say hello to my new little brother. His name is Aziraphale."

"Aww, aren't you a cute one," Raphael cooed at the just awakened baby, waving at him. "Almost as cute as your big brother, even -- although in a different way." Now, he casted a mischievous grin at Gabriel.

Gabriel chuckled in amusement. "Well, I certainly should hope that you aren't attracted to my baby brother in the same way as you are to me," he said, a brilliant grin on his face.

"Fear not, my love," laughed the other archangel. "Now, shall we go to meet our friends?"

"Gladly," Gabriel responded with a smile, and Aziraphale giggled happily. He might not have entirely understood the conversation, but he was learning new things all the time and it made him delighted.

The two archangels -- and one baby cherub -- disappeared only to rematerialise on another plane of existence. Two other archangels were already waiting for them.

"Well, there you are at last!" exclaimed Michael. "It's well about the time. Uriel isn't coming; something came up and -- oh, my. Just what do you have there, Gabriel?" the blond asked.

"Indeed," said Lucifer, a smile on his lips. "You decided to adopt as well, eh? Well, why don't you introduce us to the little dear?" As Gabriel came nearer, he reached out a hand to tickle the baby.

"Okay," laughed the brunet archangel. "Lucifer, Michael, Raphael, this is my new little brother Aziraphale. Aziraphale, these are my friends Lucifer, Michael, and Raphael."

"Pleased to make your aqcuitance," Lucifer said in mock seriousness. He offered a finger, and the baby grasped on it. The others grinned as His next in command shook hands/fingers with the child.

"Only your friends?" echoed Michael then, raising an eyebrow. "Well, that's all good and well with me, and I doubt Lucifer is going to protest either, but isn't dear Raphael sad about that?"

"Oh, fine!" Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Aziraphale, these are Lucifer and Michael, two insufferable gits who call themselves my friends, and Raphael, the one I love more than anything besides Him."

"Now, now," chuckled Lucifer. "Come on, my friends. We have things to discuss, and it'd be much more pleasant with some seats." He gestured towards a table that had four chairs set around it.

"Put the kid on the ground," Michael advised. "Maybe this'll keep him occupied." The one of them with the fairest hair undid his belt buckle, laying the belt, the sheath, and the sword on the ground.

"Are you sure he can't hurt himself with it?" asked Gabriel. As Michael then reassured him that no such thing would happen -- although the part, 'And we have our master healer right here anyway,' wasn't very convincing -- he laid his baby brother next to the sword. Then he joined the other archangels at the table.

For some time they chattered happily. Suddenly, however, Raphael froze in the middle of a sentence.

"Look at the child," he finally managed to say. "Just... Look at him. Now." And he pointed.

The others, of course, looked at the child. And stared at him, all of them.

Somehow little Aziraphale, who was just about old enough to wiggle his tiny wings, had managed to draw Michael's sword from its sheath. At the moment the little cherub was holding onto the sword's hilt, giggling happily. And the sword itself, an archangel's weapon, was merrily burning with divine fire.

Michael grinned broadly. "Looks like you've got a natural warrior there, Gabriel," he commented cheerfully. "I can hardly wait until I get to train him." The azure blue eyes shone with excitement.

"Indeed, such potential," Lucifer mused. "I believe little Aziraphale shall grow up to do something remarkable." His eyes followed closely as the baby worked hard to move the sword further.

Gabriel just smiled brightly, very proud of his adopted little brother. Raphael put an arm around him and he leant against the healer, content. Yes, little Aziraphale would become a force to be reckoned with.

And that was another beginning.

* * *

Aziraphale laughed in excitement as he broke free of his brother's embrace, tiny wings flapping furiously to keep him in the air. Gabriel looked up at him with a proud smile, trying to hide his worry. 

Raphael placed a calming hand on his lover's shoulder. "Do not worry," he said soothingly. "Aziraphale is not going to fall down. His wings are strong enough to carry him, and his will is even stronger."

"I know," Gabriel sighed. "However, I can't help but worry. He is still so small and fragile."

The small and fragile one himself knew nothing about his elder brother's worries. Aziraphale merely enjoyed his new ability, delighted as always to learn something new. He giggled excitedly, circling around.

For a moment the two archangels watched the child on his first flight. Gabriel leant back against Raphael's chest, and the redhead wrapped his arms around his lover. Right then everything seemed perfect.

Suddenly something else than giggles bursted out of Aziraphale's mouth. "Uwiel!" he exclaimed in delight.

"So you have finally learnt to fly?" Uriel asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're seemingly a big boy already." With a brief smile, he added, "Well, fortunately you shan't be left as the only archangelic baby sibling."

"What?" exclaimed Gabriel, his eyes wide with surprise. "Don't tell me that you have..."

Instead of saying anything at first, Uriel let his cloak slide back from his shoulder. On his arm, previously hidden by the rich green cloth, lay a baby cherub. Black curls covered his head, and his blue eyes watched his surroundings curiously. "Gabriel, Raphael, Aziraphale... meet my brother Carowiel."

"Aaa!" exclaimed Aziraphale, immediately fluttering nearer with his tiny wings. "Baby!"

Carowiel looked up at this new creature. A pair of baby eyes met another. Then, the younger of the little cherubim reached out a hand to touch the other one. Aziraphale responded by flying even closer, close enough to actually touch. Two little hands met, grasped, and held. And didn't let go.

And that was a third beginning.

**

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Next prompt**: Middles.


	2. Middles

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** Here is another chapter for your enjoyment. Just do not, I repeat, DO NOT expect as quick updates in the future.

**

* * *

A Hundred White Feathers**

**002. Middles**

* * *

Aziraphale had always been curious to know and learn, even more so than other angels. And, even more so than other angels, he was also interested in stories. Especially much he liked the middles of stories. 

This maybe sounded odd, but it was true. Aziraphale didn't care much for the beginnings; those just set the scene. And endings, well, then all was concluded and known, and there was little left for curiosity. But the middles -- ah, those were wonderful. They told you what you already knew of the beginning, and gave hints for the end, and everything important always happened in the middle. Or didn't happen, if it was so to be.

Little Carowiel liked middles as well. However, his reasons were slightly different; he liked them simply because battles always happened in the middle of the story. And Carowiel liked battles, oh, how he liked them, and he was good at fighting, too. Some angels said that one day he might even take Michael's place as the head of Heaven's army; he was so talented and eager. This was not what Carowiel strived for, though; he was perfectly content just practising, and fighting, and beating everyone but Michael and Lucifer.

Of course, that was something he still had to wait a bit for. While talented, he was also young. Aziraphale was still a young angel, and the youngest ever to be given a full cherub's sword, something he was immensely proud of. Carowiel was even younger, and all he really was allowed to do was play with the other angel children, hoping that one day he might grow up enough to be allowed a real sword and true practices. It wouldn't be long, he hoped; after all, he was already showing clear talent for fighting.

As it was, though, he was still a kid. And therefore, he was now sitting, watching Aziraphale train.

"Don't look so dark, Carowiel," Aziraphale said, smiling at his best friend. "Soon you'll be big enough to be given a sword, and then we'll get to fight with each other properly, and you can finally win me."

"Yeah," Carowiel said, brightening up a bit. He leapt up, the red skirt of his armour flaring a bit, and tapped at his gold-clad chest. "I'll be better than you, and better than anybody but Lucifer or even Michael!"

"I believe that," the older angel laughed. "And I'll be the next best, then. Though I think Lucifer's better than Michael," he then added. "After all, he's His second in command; of course he's better at fighting, too."

"No, he's not!" Carowiel protested. "Raphael's an archangel, right? So he's higher in the ranks than lots of angels. And he's really not good at fighting. Rank tells nothing! Nobody can beat Michael!"

"Yeah, sure," Aziraphale said, a slight smile on his lips. "Sorry, I forgot that you have a hero complex about Michael. Of course nobody can be greater than your shiny great leader!"

"I don't have a -- wuzzit -- comxlep about Michael!" announced Carowiel. "He's just the best!"

"All right, all right, little guy," laughed Aziraphale, patting Carowiel's head. "You're right, I'm sure."

And that was one middle.

* * *

Gabriel leant down to place a light kiss on Aziraphale's forehead. Then he wiped away a stray lock of hair from the peaceful face, adjusted the covers for one last time, and straightened himself. He smiled a bit as he looked down at his sleeping brother. Although he already trained with full warriors, Aziraphale was really a child still, and like all young angels, he needed to sleep, unlike the adults. And so the child was now lying on a bed, gently tucked in by his elder brother, his sword standing in the corner, waiting for him. 

A fond smile still lingering on his lips, Gabriel then turned around and very quietly left the room. Walking down the corridor, he then opened a door and stepped into another room, closing the door behind himself. "He's asleep," he informed the other angelic being already occupying the said room.

"The poor dear," Raphael said, a small smile on his lips. "He always exhausts himself with the training."

"Yes, but he is indeed getting results," Gabriel said, walking over to where the redhead sat on a couch and sitting down next to him. "His visits to you in need of healing have become less frequent, haven't they?"

"Fortunately, yes," Raphael replied. "I still can't understand how Michael'd allow him to train with the warriors, though," he added then. "He's a child still! He should be playing, not training with a real sword!"

Yet again Gabriel's lips were curled in a smile. "Raphael, he hardly is too young. Michael knows his skills, and would never let him train with the adult warriors if he wasn't well capable of it."

"Perhaps... Why do we need to fight, anyway?" asked the healer then. "It is peace! By His word it is!"

"We are not to question His plans," Gabriel replied. "If He has deemed it necessary for Heaven to have armed forces, it is not our place to ask for the reasons. Perhaps those reasons will one day become clear to us, perhaps not. However, at any case, until then we should just accept whatever He says."

"Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me." Raphael leant against Gabriel's shoulder, one hand wandering to the other archangel's chest. Although adult angels rarely slept, they did so when they were especially tired, which was not an unusual predicament for the archangels with so many duties to take care of. And tired was exactly what Raphael was at the moment.

Gabriel smiled slightly, pulling his lover into a tight embrace. Feeling the other's breath evening out as Raphael relaxed into sleep against his chest, he then allowed himself to fall asleep as well.

And that was another middle.

* * *

Uriel allowed himself to smile a bit as he watched the little angel some way from him. Carowiel was swinging his tiny training sword around, a determined expression on his face. Aziraphale was instructing him -- not that Carowiel needed many instructions, of course. The boy truly was a natural warrior, even more so than Aziraphale -- and Aziraphale had, if the story was true, lit up Michael's sword before he could talk. 

Aziraphale said something to the little boy. Carowiel glanced up at him, grinning. Then he suddenly reached up a hand and tugged at Aziraphale's hair. Aziraphale yelped, pulling his hair away from the smaller angel's grasp. Then they both laughed like two friends who had just shared a joke -- what, in a way, they were.

The smile got even broader as Uriel continued watching the two. Oh, Aziraphale and Carowiel were most certainly best friends. And Carowiel, little talented Carowiel, was something he could be proud of. The child was most certainly dearer to him than any other member of the angelic Host. Only Him did Uriel love more than he loved his little brother; he would have done absolutely anything for Carowiel.

Uriel's hand wandered to the hilt of his sword, and he smiled briefly. It wouldn't be long until Carowiel got a true cherub's sword. He'd already had one made, decorated with an emerald like his own, just like Aziraphale's sword held a sapphire similar to that attached to Gabriel's sword. He could hardly wait to see the two young angels truly training together, as equals.

And that was a third middle.

* * *

"What's wrong, Lucifer, love?" asked Michael quietly. "You look rather tense." 

The golden-haired archangel sighed, lightly rubbing his temples. "Nothing is wrong, Michael, believe me," he replied then, casting an affectionate glance at his companion. "I'm just a bit tired."

Michael walked over to where Lucifer sat by his desk and put his hands on his lover's shoulders. "Rubbish," he snorted. "Something's wrong, I know it. And exactly why are you tired?"

"No reason," the other replied, rising a hand to cover one of those held on his shoulders. "Look, Michael, can we just drop it? After I've had some rest, I'll be all better. Promise."

Michael frowned a bit but then nodded. "If you are sure," he said, only a hint of doubt in his voice.

And that was a fourth middle.

* * *

There was one thing young Aziraphale still hadn't noticed about middles, though. That was, the direction often changed in the middle of the story, from bad to good... 

Or from good to bad.

**

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Next prompt**: Ends


	3. Ends

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** Of course, where there's a middle, there's always an end. And, in life, very rare ends are happy.

* * *

**A Hundred White Feathers**

**003: Ends**

* * *

Aziraphale frowned as he glanced at his best friend. "Can't you really stand still for a minute?" he asked.

Carowiel, who once again was shifting his weight from one foot to another, smirked a bit. "Nope," he replied. "And Michael knew that when he made me one of the generals, so you shouldn't complain."

At this, Aziraphale snorted, rolling his eyes skywards. At the same time a tiny smile was tugging at his lips. After all, Carowiel was right. Michael knew them both, knew them better than he knew most of the angels in his forces, and still he had made them both his generals. Only He Above knew why he'd done such a thing. Sure, they were the two top fighters in the Host, but Carowiel was quite reckless, especially lately as he had more and more started to hang around some of the wilder young angel warriors.

Now they were standing in the front row, along with all the other generals, the rest of the Heavenly forces all standing in a strict formation behind them, waiting. To be exact, waiting for their two leaders to come to an agreement. Michael and Lucifer were currently both high above them, fighting about something.

Of course it was ridiculous to be taking sides in such a quarrel, but still Aziraphale found himself quietly rooting for Michael. Having known both archangels ever since he had just come to be, he had more reasons for his choice than most angels. While Lucifer was always friendly and kind, he was also kind of distant, and -- although nobody would have ever said it to him -- prouder than an angel should have been.

Lately Lucifer had been keeping even more distance, and Aziraphale, who had always liked Michael more, had found himself even more drawn to the blond leader of the Host. Michael was always there for his men, helping even the worst beginners if nobody else had the time to do that, while Lucifer only showed up occasionally to fight with the best warriors. Of course Aziraphale was on Michael's side.

However, as the quarrel went on, he started to feel vaguely ill. Something was not right. He still couldn't hear the words, but they were getting louder and louder now. Soon he'd perhaps be able to catch a word.

And suddenly everything broke apart as Lucifer drew his sword, directing a hit at Michael. However, the blond was fast to follow, blocking the other's blade just before it reached him. Aziraphale glanced around, startled, seeing all the other angels starting to shout and yell. "Carowiel?" he asked from his friend, turning his eyes to the one person he knew best, hoping to get some kind of an explanation.

Instead of an explanation, however, he only got more confusion -- more pain, as it was. "You were right back then, you know," Carowiel said quietly, his blue eyes so very serious. "About which one of them is more powerful." And then, he drew and raised his sword, crying out a name, and suddenly Aziraphale found himself loathing that name more than any other word ever uttered by an angelic mouth. "Lucifer!"

Using the force of his sudden rage against that name to hold back his tears, Aziraphale drew his own sword, raising it towards the endless sky, and cried out a name, another, but just as full of power.

"Michael!" he shouted, like several others by his side, and with that name now as his war cry, he attacked. And somewhere, on the other side of the invisible line that suddenly was separating the once united forces, one pair of azure blue eyes glanced at him, the lips still echoing a different name.

And that was one end.

* * *

Gabriel's mind was spinning as he struck with his sword back and forth. He had no idea how this had come about. At first it had been just a minor disagreement; now Heaven was in war. He faced former friends and allies in a battle, forcing himself to not give in an inch, knowing that his enemies would show him neither pity nor mercy should he falter. His sword shining with divine fire, he struck back yet another opponent.

Suddenly he heard somebody calling for him -- somebody with a very familiar voice. The brunet archangel turned around to see Raphael, thankfully unharmed, trying to shout something at him over the noise of the battle. Not hearing a thing, Gabriel ran forward, trying to get closer to his lover to get his message.

Then, however, he froze as he saw a warrior stepping forward. This one held a cherub's fiery sword, but the fire was not divine like that around his own blade; these flames were dark and evil, a twisted mockery of the holiness of his own sword's shine. And this twisted, evil weapon was struck forward, the unholy blade cutting through angelic flesh -- right through Raphael's heart. With only a slightly surprised gasp, the healer then slowly fell to the ground, his eyes staring up without seeing a thing.

Gabriel charged forward, rage and sorrow almost blinding him as he sought revenge for his fallen lover. With one quick strike of his sword he cut the attacker's neck, sending his head flying. Then he felt oddly numb, staring down at the lifeless form of his lover. Raphael's face still held a slightly surprised and only a bit shocked expression. There was no sign of life in his beautiful eyes, no recognition of Gabriel, the usual sparkle of both wisdom and intelligence gone. Swallowing, Gabriel turned away.

And that was another end.

* * *

Gabriel struck down yet another rebellious angel, finally reaching Uriel's side. The darkhaired archangel was now using throwing daggers, targeting every Dark angel unfortunate enough to come to his sight. His emerald-decorated sword waited on his belt, ready to be immediately taken to use when the need arose. 

"What's the situation?" asked Uriel, having to shout over the noise of the battle for his words to actually reach Gabriel's ears. "Are we winning or losing?"

"I don't know," the Messenger replied regretfully. "As far as I know, we are winning -- but I think it all depends on the outcome of that one battle." He pointed up. There, above everybody else, nobody daring to approach them, two angels fought. White wings flapped furiously to twist and turn and charge and dodge, long, blond hair flying around in the air while the bright golden locks hardly seemed to move. A golden sword clashed with another, an icy pair of eyes glaring at a similar one, two lovers caught in a battle of life and death not only their own but that of everybody present. Michael and Lucifer were battling.

"That's true, yes." Uriel aimed at yet another angel, the fiery dagger bringing the enemy down immediately. "Have you seen anybody else around? Raphael, Aziraphale? Carowiel?" There was an obvious sign of worry in his voice as he mentioned his little brother's name, truly misplaced, though, seeing as Carowiel was the best warrior in all of the Host aside from the two currently fighting above them. Gabriel understood this, though; even though Aziraphale was most certainly the second best, he still worried for his brother.

"Raphael... was brought down," he replied quietly, almost choking at the words. Uriel cast him a sharp glance but said nothing, waiting for him to continue. "As for the young ones... I haven't seen either of them since the battle first began." Just then his eye caught something. "Hey! Isn't that Aziraphale over there?"

They both looked at the same direction. True enough, it was Aziraphale, looking more an adult than ever before as he stood in the middle of fallen enemies, his golden and red armour splattered all over with angelic blood thankfully not his own. His eyes shone with divine wrath, the ponytail on the back of his head thrown from one side to another as he fought, his skill rivalled by none nearby. Gabriel's heart filled with pride.

At last the young cherub seemed to notice them, turning around to face them. There was a triumphant grin on his face, and despite the horrible situation Gabriel found himself grinning back. Then, however, his expression turned into one of horror as suddenly a blade broke right through Aziraphale's chest, soaked with the young angel's blood. Unable to help himself, Gabriel cried out. Uriel stood frozen at his side.

Aziraphale fell now to the ground, as lifeless as Raphael had been. They now saw his attacker, and this sight shocked them even more than the one of a sword cutting through Aziraphale from behind.

Deep blue eyes blazed with an emotion neither archangel could even begin to identify, long, black locks flying around in the divine wind surrounding them, having broken free of their usual restraint. Even below the seemingly endless layers of angelic blood parts of the armour still shone golden, the silver sword dripping with holy blood, the emerald attached to its hilt pulsing with impure energy. There was rage and hatred on the pure, beautiful face like nothing they'd ever encountered before, and it was directed at them.

And then, before either of the two could get over their shock enough to do something, Carowiel turned around and was away, not giving a glance to his best friend, whom he had just murdered like a coward.

"...Uriel?" asked Gabriel quietly as he finally managed to make his vocal cords actually work. "Uriel, are you all right?" At the same time, he inwardly berated himself for asking such stupid questions. Of course Uriel was not all right. Even though Gabriel himself had just lost his little brother as well, Uriel's loss was permanent and not one that could be redeemed by any power.

Uriel didn't say anything, just turned to look at Gabriel, his deep blue eyes more serious than ever before. And, at that moment, Gabriel saw something dying in those eyes.

And that was a third end.

* * *

Sword up, right, down, step back, charge, sword left, defend, still. Michael's body was working automatically while his mind was still screaming in betrayal. This couldn't be happening, something had to be wrong. He couldn't be fighting with Lucifer; the Host couldn't be divided into two. And yet it was true. 

Lucifer had rebelled. He had rebelled against Him, and that was something Michael could not stand. And, as much as he regretted it, their fight had torn all the angels apart, formed two sides where once was one united group. Suddenly he understood why He had created the Heavenly Army at the first place. He must have foreseen something like this happening, and had wanted them to be ready for it.

Lucifer attacked again, no emotion showing in the so very beautiful blue eyes. His golden locks were seemingly untouched by the wind around them, his motions swift and fluid as he moved with the experience of more practices than anybody had ever cared to count. However, Michael had even more experience. And he fought; as much as he regretted having to do it, he fought with all he had.

Had anybody but his opponent been near enough to actually see such a close detail, they might have seen the blaze of something unidentifiable in the azure blue eyes. Then, hooking his sword behind that of Lucifer's, Michael drew the golden-haired immortal near. Over their locked weapons he leant forward, placing a light kiss on his stunned lover's lips, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Then he stepped back, and drew his sword away. With a mighty strike he clashed their swords together again, hit, and cut, and pressed. One last hit, and he cast Lucifer Morningstar out of Heaven.

For a moment the battle stopped, everybody frozen. Their eyes followed as Lucifer, like a burning butterfly, Fell from Grace with a light brighter than anything any angel had ever encountered surrounding him. And behind him trailed a scream, a scream full of betrayal, rage, and horrifying, unbearable loss.

And that was a fourth end.

* * *

**Next prompt:** Insides 


	4. Insides

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** I hope you did not expect all chapters to be as long as the three first ones; this will hardly be the shortest one.

**

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A Hundred White Feathers**

**004. Insides**

* * *

The first thing Aziraphale noticed upon awakening was that he was not within his body anymore. Instead, he was floating around, with no sight or hearing. At first he panicked; then he remembered the battle, and how a sword had been run through him. His body had died; his soul lived on. 

He was a prisoner in his own mind.

* * *

Uriel's gaze did not wander to his sides as he travelled through the halls of Heaven. He kept his eyes strictly forward, his mouth set on a thin line, ignoring the whispers that arose wherever he went. It was him they were talking about, that he knew, or more specifically the change in him. Well, what did they expect? He'd just finished the task of separating a third of the Host from the Presence. How could he not have changed? 

As he finally reached the safety of his own rooms, he hid his face in his hand and sighed. Exhaustion came over him often these days. It wasn't the tiredness of healing that most had, for he had been left uninjured in the battle and was about useless in healing others, and it wasn't the exhaustion of using his power, either, although that affected him, too. Mostly he was tired because of the constant emotional turmoil he often found himself in nowadays. The pain of making so many Fall had been almost unbearable.

He'd had to make Carowiel Fall, too.

For a moment, he just stood there, shivering. Then, he took on a determined expression. He would mourn for Carowiel, yes, but like he had died with no coming back. He would not feel anything for the... the _thing_ that Carowiel had become. The beast that had betrayed his brethren was not his brother.

And yet every moment that passed tore at his heart like something had been eating him from the inside.

* * *

"Aziraphale..." 

The young angel was startled to hear somebody calling his name. He could hear? Was he about to get back his body? He felt a bit excited, and at the same time very tense. "...Aziraphale, wake up..."

Slowly, very slowly, Aziraphale came to see. He blinked a bit, and then noticed that there was somebody looking down at him. Still, there was no body on him; all he could see of himself was a faint glow.

"Have no fear, Aziraphale," Raphael said quietly, giving him a gentle yet sad smile. "You will soon regain your body. At the moment I am too exhausted and there are too many people I have to attend to, but as soon as I am able to I will return to help you along in your healing process."

Aziraphale would have nodded, had he been able to. As it was, he just watched the healer, seeing the tired lines on the pale face, the way Raphael's body seemed too thin to contain him, the glow of the archangel's aura seeping through. It was obvious that Raphael, too, had lost his body in the fight.

Then his gaze met the blue eyes, their gentle but somehow empty stare, and he knew that the healer was just as broken in the inside as he was.

**

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Next prompt**: Outsides


	5. Outsides

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** I had some difficulties with this chap, and I doubt this will be the last difficult one. However, at least I got it done. And that's all that truly matters, right?

**

* * *

A Hundred White Feathers**

**005. Outsides**

* * *

When Aziraphale slowly began to regain his body he was surprisingly unsure as of what to think about it. At first the only difference he noticed was that his senses of hearing and sight were getting slightly better. Then, the faint glow that had served as his image of himself was replaced with a body -- not a healthy one yet, though, only a thin cover that barely could contain him. He couldn't even move at first, just lying there, observing everything that was going on around him. 

Gabriel was there with him as often as he could -- which was not very often, as he had all kinds of other responsibilities. Michael could visit practically never, he was so caught up. Raphael visited too, whenever he had time, always giving him a gentle smile, reassuring words, and a bit of healing power.

Uriel came by at times, too. He never said anything, just sat there, and unlike during other visits, Aziraphale didn't even try to make his body obey him enough to allow for words. Neither of them wanted or needed to speak, they were just keeping each other company. Although he did not know exactly what the archangel had gone through, Aziraphale could sense that Uriel needed somebody to just be there for him, help him concentrate on the here and now. Memories were too painful.

Even during these silent visits Aziraphale noticed that something had changed in Uriel. Something inside him was different from before -- and something outside him, too. To be exact, his eyes.

The blue in angels' eyes was a reflection of the Presence within them. As Uriel's was strongest, him being the Angel of Divine Presence, his eyes had always been the deepest shade of blue of all of the Host, only Lucifer's ever coming even close to their sapphire-like glow. Now, however, something had changed.

Uriel's eyes now were, instead of blue, filled with a deep, only vaguely blue-tinted green colour.

Of course, others noticed it as well. Aziraphale had heard Gabriel and Raphael quietly talking about it. They had come to the conclusion that it was a result of having to separate a third of the Host from the Presence. That was what Aziraphale thought, too. Although the almost overwhelming sense of Presence that had always surrounded Uriel was still there, but it had changed somehow. It only make sense that it might cause some outward changes to take place in Uriel along with the inward ones that could not be seen directly.

Slowly he recovered, regaining the ability to move a bit, and, finally, talk. It was by now that Gabriel once came to him, a very serious expression on his face.

"Aziraphale, I have something to tell you," his brother said, looking more serious than ever. As Aziraphale nodded slowly, not knowing how to react otherwise, Gabriel then continued, "I know this is hard to believe -- He knows that I didn't want to believe it at first. It must be very difficult to you, but you need to know it. Aziraphale -- Carowiel has Fallen." At the end of the sentence his voice had dropped to a mere whisper.

For a moment, Aziraphale couldn't say or do anything. He just lay on his bed, his mind slowly processing the information he had already known but hadn't wanted to believe.

Yes, he had known it. Of course, he had heard Carowiel siding with Lucifer, but even if that hadn't been enough, feeling Carowiel's aura behind him right before he was killed certainly was. However, even though he had known, he hadn't believed, had denied the truth. Now, he had to face the truth at last.

And it hurt. It hurt so very much.

"Oh," he said, and then again, "Oh." Then he forced himself to put on a brave expression. "Well, it was his own decision," he said. "Although I am sad about it, I can't really help it."

For a moment Gabriel just watched him, not saying anything. Finally, though, he nodded. "I have to go now," he said. "If you feel that you need to talk, though, I'll always be there for you. We all will." He reached out a hand to wipe a lock of hair from his little brother's face. "Don't bottle it up, dear."

And then, he left, leaving Aziraphale alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Gabriel sighed, shaking his head, as he walked through the corridor. Aziraphale apparently wanted to look like he wasn't affected by Carowiel's Fall even though it was obvious that it had hurt him a great deal. It was not good, not at all. Neither was the fact that Uriel and Michael were doing exactly the same thing. 

He couldn't even begin to understand just how much Michael had to hurt. To imagine Raphael Falling was impossible. It was hard enough that a good friend of his -- and Aziraphale's best friend -- had Fallen. But to lose one's lover in such a horrible way? It was simply unthinkable.

And as for Uriel -- well, he was probably even worse. Although not unfriendly, Uriel simply wasn't one to give out his affection easily. Carowiel had been the only one he truly loved, well, aside from Him, of course. Being betrayed by the only being you held dear must hurt very badly.

Gabriel shuddered. Better not to even think about such things.

However, he couldn't help but still worry. It most certainly wasn't healthy, to let such emotions just bottle up with no outlet. Sooner or later it would most certainly lead to something unpleasant, and he was definitely not looking forward to when that happened, for he already knew it would bring about much grief.

Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Having a bad day, love?" asked Raphael quietly.

Sighing, Gabriel turned around, beling immediately drawn into his lover's arms. "I'm just worried," he confessed. "Aziraphale is holding it all inside, and so are Michael and Uriel. This is bound to get ugly in the end, and I'm not looking forward to when that happens."

"Well, we'll worry about that when we get there," Raphael soothed him. "Now, relax, love. It'll do no good to anybody if you keel over because of this ordeal."

Gabriel gave him a halfhearted glare. "You're one to speak," he muttered. "You look like you'd just regained your body yesterday!" He wasn't even exaggerrating much. Raphael, being caught up with his healing work, hadn't saved much power for his own recovery ever since he'd first been able to heal others of their injuries. Of course, this did not please Gabriel, who was fearing Raphael would exhaust himself too badly and lose his body again. It was a very rare occasion, but indeed possible, and he didn't want it to happen. They had got enough grief as it was even without Raphael dying again.

Well, if it was up to Gabriel, it wouldn't happen. "Now, you're going to bed," he said firmly. "And no matter how many need to be healed, you are not getting out before you're fully healed yourself. You'll help nobody if you exhaust yourself too much." And with this, he started dragging Raphael towards their apartment, ignoring any and all protests the redhead happened to make.

**

* * *

Next prompt**: Hours


	6. Hours

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

* * *

A Hundred White Feathers****  
006. Hours**

* * *

Heaven was slowly recovering from the battle. Everybody was now so well that the healers, even Raphael, were also considered fully recovered. Of course, had it not been for Gabriel, Raphael would have put off his own recovery until the last scratches and bruises were taken care of, but fortunately the healer had a responsible lover. And a responsible little brother-of-lover, too; whenever Gabriel wasn't around, Aziraphale was there to keep an eye on Raphael and make sure he wasn't exhausting himself too much. The young warrior made his big brother especially proud by not letting Raphael heal him, preferring to use his own recovery skills and let the healer save his strength for what it was really needed for. 

Michael was proud of him as well. Even though he had lost many of his forces -- it seemed that warriors made up the majority of the Fallen, being naturally more ambitious and inclined to pride than other angels -- it seemed like the best remained. Many of his generals were lost, and this was the first time ever he had to lead the Heavenly Army alone without Lucifer by his side, but with generals like Aziraphale on his side, he was sure he'd succeed. The new warriors he was training now would be the best ones ever.

While Michael and his generals were busy training both old and new warriors to get the Heavenly Army back to shape after the losses of the war, everybody else was also returning to their old business. Once everybody had recovered and a health balance was thus reached, Raphael's work now consisted mostly of coordinating the lower healers. It was enough work to keep him occupied, but not enough to exhaust him -- which of course made Gabriel very happy. The Messenger himself was rather busy, trying to keep up with all the changes in Heaven and informing everybody about everything important, and thus he rarely saw his lover nowadays. Of course, that made them cherish even more the few moments they could steal just for each other. And they did see each other at work, too.

Nobody knew what Uriel was doing. Nobody asked him, either. It wasn't that they weren't interested or didn't care what was happening to him; they just figured he would prefer to be alone. While Heaven may have mostly recovered, despite the deep scars that were bound to stay for a long time, the other archangels knew that Uriel was far from being over it. And they would respect his wish for loneliness.

Of course Uriel wasn't exactly lonely. There were often other angels around, and especially much he seemed to be drawn to Aziraphale. The two never talked to each other about anything, though, just like neither of them talked to anybody else about anything connected to the Fall. They preferred silence, but as it seemed to help them in some way, the others were not overly worried.

So, Heaven was getting back to routines. They weren't the same as before -- the warrior training in particular was quite more intense -- but for the most part, everything seemed more or less familiar again.

And then, one day, a Voice said, "Let there Be."

* * *

Angels had no idea of time -- absolutely understandable, considering that there was no time yet to speak of when they were created. To them, some things happened before others; they did have a continuous line of events. However, one angel might take the same space in this line for blinking once as two others took for a lengthy conversation, and nobody thought anything about it. It was just normal. 

Therefore, for some time they were all quite confused about what had happened. Suddenly everybody seemed to be late as something they'd thought wouldn't take long had actually taken that. Before, they had lived rather freely; after agreeing on a meeting, the members of a group of angels could first do about anything they wanted, or go to the meeting place right away, and all would still arrive almost at the same time. Now, however, some came significantly later. And it was becoming a problem.

Gabriel was especially stressed about it. It wasn't that he had any problem keeping up with time; however, whenever others had problems, one way or another it seemed to end up being _his_ problem. The only one who had adapted to the new kind of existence almost naturally was Uriel. He had always preferred to do only one thing a time anyway, so it wasn't any problem for him to be unable to do several things simultaneously anymore.

Of course, Michael was almost always late. He maybe was a great warrior, leader, and teacher, but punctuality apparently just wasn't one of his talents.

However, Michael always showed up eventually, as did everybody else. And so, the rebuilding of the Golden City could go on, even if it wasn't without some difficulties.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Days  



	7. Days

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** Just for the record, I believe that God created the world. However, I also believe in evolution. These two things are not necessarily exclusive, like I'm trying to show in this chap.**  
**

**

* * *

007. Days**

* * *

Aziraphale looked at the angels in front of him. "Okay, I trust you can remember your instructions from the last time," he said. "As far as I know, Michael hasn't planned anything different for this time, so go by those instructions." Smiling a bit, he added, "If he wants you to do something else, he can tell it himself... as soon as he bothers to appear here in person." 

Everybody smiled, and a few even chuckled aloud. They all knew very well Michael's tendency to always be late. He was one of the angels who apparently were completely unable to grasp the concept of time.

The practices had thus already gone on for a while under the watchful eyes of a few of the generals as Aziraphale felt a hand on his shoulder. "How many jokes did you make about my lateness this time?" Michael asked, mild amusement in his voice as he looked at his highest -- and youngest -- general.

"No jokes at all, sir," Canael, another general replied, grinning. "He just said that you'd give your own instructions once you finally showed up."

"Fair enough." Smirking, he ruffled Aziraphale's hair. "It's a good thing I have generals who know me so well... even if they do make fun of me all the time. Is it my fault if my mind is unfit for the idea of time? It's not like I'm late on purpose, you know."

"Well, it does make one wonder just why you are unable to be on time," Lacathel commented with a grin. "After all, the other archangels didn't have much difficulty with adapting to the existence of time."

"Well, they are all cherubim," Michael said defensively. "I'm a seraph. The other seraphim never do anything except for praise Him; my kind in general does not need the ability to be on time."

"Uriel is a cherub?" one of the generals asked, surprised. "I thought he was created at the same time as the seraphim. Wouldn't that make him a seraph as well?"

"Who knows what Uriel is? The idea of him has existed forever -- as long as there has been Presence. He was created as soon as the first seraphim came into being, yes, but he does have some cherub-like features as well," Aziraphale told them. "Raphael and Gabriel are both cherubim, Michael is a seraph, and nobody knows just what Uriel is. However," he then added as Michael was beginning to look rather satisfied with his defence, "Metatron is definitely a seraph. And he has _never_ been late from anything."

"Well, Metatron is His Voice. I'd figure He keeps him in time," Michael replied, only to be ignored by his laughing generals. "...Fine. Don't listen to me, then."

Aziraphale smiled happily. This was exactly why Michael was such a popular leader. Although everybody knew exactly who was in command -- Michael's authority had never been questioned among the Hosts, and never would be -- Michael wasn't afraid of acting like an equal with his forces. He let them make fun of himself -- to a point, of course -- and in turn they would follow him no matter what.

"This might be our last practice for some time," Michael said suddenly.

"Eh?" Aziraphale was just as confused as the other generals. "Why so?"

"Metatron just informed us archangels that He is soon going to create something that takes time and He wants us all to be there to witness it. We were to pass the word each to our own part of the Host. No doubt the others all know already," he added, chuckling slightly.

"Probably, yes," Canael agreed amusedly. "In fact, are you absolutely sure He hasn't started already?"

"Now, now," Michael said over their laughter. "Not even I am _that_ completely out of time, you know."

_

* * *

"Let there be Light_."

Aziraphale, like everybody else, watched in fascination as light came into being. It was like a sudden explosion in the middle of nothingness, soon spreading into every direction. He stood there right behind Michael, the best warriors among the Host behind them, watching as the world was being created. On one side stood Raphael with all his healers, on another Gabriel with his forces, and all around them were the seraphim, singing praise, Uriel standing in their lead.

Angels had never known day and night, even though time was familiar to them. Thus they didn't find anything amiss when finally, after the light and darkness had changed too many times for even angels to count, He told that one Day had gone by. Later they would come to know that a day on Earth was a mere blink of an eye in His Days, which had nothing to do with the changes of darkness, "night," and light, "day".

"_Let there be an expanse in the middle of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters."_

Suddenly, underneath them, the blue ball of water started to change. Water and other substances vaporized and gathered, slowly forming a circle of gas around the water, one that shone blue like the water itself. And this blueness He called "sky".

There was Evening and there was Morning, a second Day.

"_Let the waters under the sky be gathered together to one place, and let the dry land appear;"_ was His next command. Slowly, as water gathered to the skies and something else rose from its depths, there was suddenly land where there had once been just water. And He called the land "earth" and the waters "seas".

"_Let the earth put forth grass, herbs yielding seed, and fruit trees bearing fruit after their kind, with its seed in it, on the earth;"_ He said. Immediately life appeared into the seas, not like angelic life, far from it, but life nonetheless -- mortal life. The algae lived, and died, and developed. And although they were not much yet -- a few cells at most -- all of the Host could see that one day it would become everything that He had told it to be. They would just have to wait.

There was Evening and there was Morning, a third Day.

"_Let there be lights in the expanse of sky to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days and years; and let them be for lights in the expanse of sky to give light on the earth;"_ He said. And the Earth, which until this had circled around something that formed light but was not defined any more, set into a regular pace around this source of light. And something came from the space, colliding with Earth, and a part of the Earth and this something set to circling Earth, reflecting the light of what He called the Sun.

All around them were similar lights, some smaller, some greater. With a mere thought He set them all on their places, formed planets around them, none exactly like Earth but many somewhat alike.

There was Evening and there was Morning, a fourth Day.

"_Let the waters swarm with swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth in the open expanse of sky."_ And then, from the life that was in the waters came another kind of life, something that was clearly different even though the angels could not yet tell how it was different. And they saw that even though it was not much yet, it would become much one day. And under their eyes this life developed, it came to be all kind of fish and other living creatures. Finally this life spread to the dry land, where there already was plant life, come from the waters, and there it took new forms of all kind. Aziraphale found all this fascinating (even though he did think the dinosaurs were a bit strange). And, from these creatures, came the first birds, flying above the earth, conquering the skies.

There was Evening and there was Morning, a fifth Day.

"_Let the earth bring forth living creatures after their kind, livestock, creeping things, and animals of the earth after their kind;"_ He said now. Most of what life was on Earth suddenly disappeared as another object came from the space by His will, destroying everything it came in touch with. Only a few things survived -- birds and insects, flying in their skies, and small, land-dwelling creatures that could not fly. And, under the ever watchful eyes of the Host, this life developed into millions of forms, all different from each other, none of what had been before remaining.

"_Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the sky, and over the livestock, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth."_ The angels watched as He created something new, something unlike anything that had ever been. Slowly but surely, through countless years of the Earth, this thing became something that looked very much like angels themselves, but even more like Him. Unlike angels, however, who all were of one kind, this being had two kinds, like the animals; male and female He created them. _"Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth, and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the sky, and over every living thing that moves on the earth,"_ He said, and blessed them.

"_Behold, I have given you every herb yielding seed, which is on the surface of all the earth, and every tree, which bears fruit yielding seed. It will be your food. To every animal of the earth, and to every bird of the sky, and to everything that creeps on the earth, in which there is life, I have given every green herb for food;"_ he now said, and thus set his own image, the Man, in charge of the Earth.

There was Evening and there was Morning, a sixth Day.

On the seventh Day He rested, seeing that everything He had made was indeed very good. And the angels watched it all, watched the Earth that had now been made, and wondered. The seraphim sang like never before, and the others joined in the praise, wondering the miracles of Earth.

Aziraphale watched it all, looked at everything he had just seen being created, and he was in awe.

The Earth, he decided, and the Man, were truly the greatest things He had ever brought into being.

And he wanted to learn to know them.

* * *

** Next prompt:** Weeks. 


	8. Weeks

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

* * *

008. Weeks**

* * *

Aziraphale smiled, enjoying the feeling of the sun shining at him. It was so warm, warm in a different way than the Eternal Light in the Golden City, but still very pleasant. Pleasant, like everything else on Earth. 

Oh, he loved the Earth, and all its inhabitants, too. While most angels had quickly lost their interest in it as a week or two had gone by, he was still intrigued by everything He had created during those seven Days. Being more curious than most angels, Aziraphale wanted to know absolutely everything there was to know about Earth, and he spent all his spare time down there, learning everything he could.

Adam and Eve were such wonderful people, too. They also seemed curious about their surroundings, and Aziraphale greatly enjoyed talking with them. They were so different from angels, and yet so very similar. Perhaps the greatest difference was that there were two kinds of them, a man and a woman, like they were called. Angels knew nothing of a thing like gender, but as far as Aziraphale could tell, most of them were mostly male. He had also discovered that, with a bit of an effort, he could have a gender, too -- but only when he was in the corporeal form he'd been given for his visits on the Earth.

He was very grateful that he had been given a corporeal body. He'd discovered that humans couldn't even see or hear his angelic form; it didn't matter whether his corporeal body looked exactly like the angelic one. Those were hard to come by (not that many would have wanted them) and he was really happy to have got one of his own. He suspected an archangelic interference in the matter, and was glad for that.

Corporeal form was perhaps so much more fragile than his angelic one that it wasn't even funny -- he'd been covered in bruises and cuts before he had figured out how to prevent them -- but it could also do so many things his angelic form couldn't. For example, he could talk with the humans. He could also hold the things on Earth -- and he could even eat!

Now, eating was one of the most fascinating new things he had discovered. Apparently, humans had something they called "hunger". Because of this, they had to "eat". Aziraphale couldn't get hungry, but he could eat. And he liked eating very much.

There were many different kinds of fruit in the Garden. "Apples", "oranges", "grapes", "pears" -- there were so many of them, and the Man had named them all, so Aziraphale could learn their names. He learnt the differences between the different citrus fruit, and he also learnt that the fruit of the tree in the middle of the Garden, the one that was forbidden to the Man, much resembled an apple. He learnt a whole lot of things about the fruit, and then there was everything else. It was a paradise to him, really -- a paradise of knowing, new information just waiting to be discovered behind every corner.

Others had noticed his fascination, of course. Some teased him, calling him "the man-angel", while some wondered just what interested him so much on Earth. Some had even said that he was in truth loyal to Lucifer, and wanted to be nearer to his Master, but at that point Uriel had stepped in and told these angels to shut up. Aziraphale was loyal to Him and only to Him, Uriel had announced, and anybody who suggested that he should have Fallen was questioning Him and his omniscience. After all, wouldn't He know if an angel of his had truly been loyal to the Adversary? After this lecture, Aziraphale had been mostly left in peace. As long as he fulfilled his duties, he was free to roam on Earth however much he pleased.

However, he was surprised as one day Michael sent a messenger for him. As far as he knew, there was no need for such a call. After all, they met every day in the practices. And what did Michael have to say to him anyway? Undoubtedly something unpleasant, or he wouldn't have sent out an official message.

Unlike Gabriel, in whose office Aziraphale had spent a large part of his childhood, Michael had no formal office. Whenever somebody had to catch him on official business, they headed for the practice field. That was where Aziraphale went, too, knowing the place all too well from his experiences.

"You called, sir?" he asked with a small bow, a tiny grin on his face. When an angel had come to him with an official call from the archangel, he had feared the worst. Now, however, he could see the friendly glint in the other's blue eyes and knew that nothing was seriously wrong.

"Ah, Aziraphale," Michael said. "I have a task for you." As the younger angel raised an eyebrow curiously, he continued, "He has instructed me to place guards on the gates of the Garden. These guards should be skilled fighters -- the top warriors of my forces. Therefore, as much as it grieves me to part from such a good and intelligent general... from now on, you shall serve as the guardian of the Eastern Gate."

Aziraphale's heart leapt. A guardian at the Garden? But... that meant... he could be on Earth all the time! Now, there simply couldn't be a better position for him.

"Grieve, you say," he said, a broad grin on his face, not even trying to conceal his happiness at this order. "Rather you rejoice because you can get rid of me and my comments on your troublesome little habits." With a smirk, he added, "And I would like to remind that I answered your call... _in time_."

A couple of soldiers who had tagged around to hear what Michael had to say to his highest general gasped in shock at this disrespectful comment. However, they obviously didn't know Michael very well, as the archangel just laughed. "Oh, hush, you," he said, smirking back. "Now fly before I change my mind."

"Don't worry, sir. You won't see much of me in the near future!" And with that, Aziraphale flew off, more excited than he had been in ages.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Months  



	9. Months

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

* * *

009. Months**

* * *

Aziraphale leant his back against one of the walls surrounding the Garden, drawing lines on the ground with the tip of his sword. In his free hand he was holding an apple, every now and then nibbling at the perfect, red fruit. Although he seemed rather lazy at the time, his mind was working furiously as it organized all the information he had collected about Earth during the past few months. Angelic intelligence added to human curiosity could create some rather interesting results indeed. 

Suddenly, however, his eyes caught something in the grass nearby at the same time as his angelic senses cried out in alarm at an approaching demonic aura. He immediately stood straight, flames enveloping the blade of his sword as he glared at the creature hidden in the grass, looking every bit like the angel general he was. "Back off, demon," he said firmly. "This place is not for you and your kind."

"Ssssuch rude language," the snake hissed, raising its head from the grass. "I haven't even done anything yet. I'm not allowed to hurt your preciousss humansss, if that'sss what you're worried about. Rulesss, you sssee. Handsss off humansss." Had it been able to narrow its eyes, it probably would have. "Now, what the rulesss sssay about angelsss..."

"Don't even try," Aziraphale said calmly. "You stand no chance and you know it. Even if you were in a human form and had a sword, you couldn't win me."

"Oh, really?" The snake now looked rather sly. "And here I wasss thinking I might actually be the only one who could indeed win you."

Suddenly Aziraphale realized a lot of things. Like why the snake's voice sounded so familiar. "...Carowiel?" he asked, the tone his voice a mix of disgust, shock, and wariness.

"The one and only," replied the snake, sounding rather satisfied. "Although they insssissst on calling me 'Crawly' Down There." He glanced around. "Nice place you have here. Essspecially the Sssun."

"Well, now that you've seen it, get back Down There," Aziraphale said coolly, raising his sword threateningly. "Don't make me force you to go away."

"Aren't you angelsss sssupposssed to be all kind and loving?" asked the snake nastily. "Then why can't you accept me? It'sss not like I've done any harm around here."

"Well, it's not like your kind would ever intend to do anything but harm," Aziraphale spat. "Slither off, vile serpent. You are not wanted here." While he said these words, his heart ached like never before.

The snake threw him a dirty glare. Then it hissed and slithered off.

For a long time Aziraphale stood there, staring after its trail.

* * *

"Good afternoon, angel," said a hauntingly familiar voice behind him a few days later. "A nice day we're having here, don't you think?" There was a definitely satisfied tone in the voice. 

Aziraphale's head snapped around. He stared in shock at the snake hanging from a tree right on the other side of the gate. "You!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing there?"

"Well, apparently not all guardsss are as watchful asss you are," Crawly replied smugly. "I managed to ssslither by one of them, and no, I'm not telling which gate I came through. What are you going to do now that I'm already here? Your tasssk isss only to guard the gate, after all."

"How about I cut you into pieces with my sword?" asked Aziraphale coolly. There was no hint of joking in his voice, and his eyes were like blue ice.

"Now, now, angel, mind your temper," the demon said. "You're ssstarting to resssemble Michael."

"If I did, I would be proud," replied Aziraphale simply. "He is my leader, no matter what."

"No matter if a battle ssstarted by him ssseparated the Hossst in two?" Crawly asked slyly.

Of course, Aziraphale immediately had a response. "It was not Michael who first drew his sword."

"Right, right, blame all on the demon," sighed the snake. "Angelsss never make missstakesss."

"Yes, we do. But when an angel makes the mistake of following a wrong master, he doesn't stay as an angel for long," Aziraphale said calmly, giving the snake a level gaze.

"Like you would know anything about that." And, before he could say anything in response, the snake disappeared into the tree.

* * *

Since then, the snake visited him often, taunting him, teasing him. Aziraphale had asked Michael what to do about it. Michael had (after making to find out just who had let a demon into the Garden) said that if Aziraphale were to kill this demon, another would surely be sent. It would be the best, he had decided, if Aziraphale kept the demon occupied and kept an eye on him rather than drove him away to cause trouble elsewhere. Unnecessary battles around the Garden had been forbidden by Him, too. 

Therefore Aziraphale suffered the frequent taunts of the one he had once called his best friend. Often he itched to just kill the serpent and be done with it, but he never did it. He stayed calm, no matter what. Michael and everybody else would have a reason to be proud of him.

Then one day, after this had gone on for months, the snake thought about tempting Eve.

And after that everything went downhill.

* * *

"This is not a punishment, Aziraphale," Michael said, sighing a bit. "What you did, you did out of your love for humans. It was not wrong. However, so much of a cherub warrior's powers are tied to their sword that it's simply impossible for you to be considered one anymore." 

Aziraphale simply nodded. "I understand," he said, and he did. He had willingly given away his sword, and as a result, he was now a mere principality. Besides, he could tell that Michael didn't like this any more than he did.

"Now, there's another matter I wanted to discuss with you," Michael continued. "He will not abandon his children, and thus he feels that it would be good if somebody watched over the humans. The Enemy hardly will be satisfied with this one trick only, and the world itself is not without dangers, either. An order came to me through Metatron. He has decided to have one angel permanently situated on Earth -- and He decided that this angel should be the one who loves humans most out of all of the Hosts." After a small pause, he continued, "And that would be you."

Aziraphale froze. He was assigned a mission directly by Him? After he had got over his worst shock, he somehow managed to say, "But -- I can't do it. No matter how much I try, I can't keep the humans safe forever. I'm not powerful or even watchful enough, and there will be more of them --"

"You don't have to keep them safe all the time," Michael assured him, smiling a bit. "They have free will, after all, and are free to form their own fate. Just watch over them. Help them out here and there. Keep us up to date about the events of Earth. That sort of thing." With a tiny smirk, he added, "And, of course, while doing this you are free to study the Earth and humans to your heart's content."

Aziraphale smiled, too. "I shall do that," he said. Then, he turned to leave.

Michael must have given some kind of a sign, because suddenly every angel on the practice field turned towards them. Then, they moved to form two sides with a clear path between them, leading right towards the Pearly Gates. As Aziraphale walked through them, they all raised their swords in greeting. He swallowed, his steps almost faltering as he forced himself to walk on.

At the end of the practice field, where the path ended, stood a couple of the generals. "Go to Earth and learn what's worth learning," Canael said, smiling a bit. "Then get back that sword and return to us. Somebody has to keep an eye on Michael."

"You slew Beelzebub in the Fall, and now he's a Prince of Hell," Umael said. "A cherub or not, you'll always be a general to me."

Aziraphale didn't know what to say. Therefore, he didn't say anything; he knew the others would understand. Then he left them behind, heading for the Pearly Gates, preparing to face a new life.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Years  



	10. Years

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** 1/10 done! Only 90 more chapters to go! Aren't you proud of me?

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**010. Years**

* * *

Gabriel sighed as he finally got back into the apartment he shared with his lover. His day had definitely been a tiring one, and he wanted nothing as much as to rest without any disturbances. Therefore, he wasn't exactly joyful as Raphael came to him, a broad smile on his face, and informed him that they had a guest. 

"Who is it?" he snapped irritably. "And can't they wait for, well, another few months or so? Because I now plan to go to sleep and not wake up before summer at the very least."

"Now, that's not really possible," he heard a familiar, yet disturbingly unidentifiable voice from the next room. "You see, I'll soon have to return to Earth."

Earth? That word definitely tugged at Gabriel's curiosity. As far as he knew, there was only one being on Earth who might come to visit them, and he was...

"Aziraphale!" he exclaimed when his little brother came to view. "Oh, how I've missed you!"

The young angel gave him a cheeky grin. "So you can postpone your little nap for some time, then?" he asked teasingly, earning a good-natured huff from the Heavenly Messenger.

Gabriel hadn't seen Aziraphale for years. The last time he had set his eyes on his little brother had been when Aziraphale was walking out of Heaven, his head held proudly up, refusing to take shame in his change in rank. He could still remember the long hair, glittering in the light like stranded gold, golden armour shining, the departing angel every bit the best warrior of the cherubim order even if he was now a mere principality.

Now, Aziraphale had certainly changed during his lonely years on Earth. The once perfectly neat honey-golden hair was now just a messy bunch of wavy locks, tied back with a piece of string. His body was nowadays a bit rounder -- thanks to eating, no doubt -- although he was still fit as ever, travelling around the Earth all the time. There were a few smudges of dirt in the human-fashioned clothes he now wore instead of his perfectly spotless armour, and his eyes, which Gabriel knew to in reality be heavenly blue, appeared more bluish grey. Even a couple of freckles had found their way onto his delicate skin. All in all, he didn't look much like the angel general he had once been.

However, there was a sparkle in Aziraphale's eyes that hadn't been there since the Fall. Even though he had indeed shown a lot of enthusiasm in training the warriors, he hadn't been as eager then to show his fighting skills as he now was to tell them about the Earth and the humans. A smile was on his lips, and laughter threatened to burst out at every moment -- not the controlled, small smile and laugh Gabriel had already become accustomed to much to his grief, but the ones he remembered from before the Fall.

Ever since the Fall Aziraphale had lived like in a shell, one that wasn't even visible, but still there. He had been the perfect general -- enthusiastic, skilled, precise, always in time. As he now looked at his brother, who could have very well pretended to be a young mortal man rather than one of His angels, Gabriel couldn't imagine them being the same person. Aziraphale looked so young now, exactly like he should have; he looked innocent and carefree, not like an old veteran who has seen too much and been betrayed too many times to trust much anymore.

Never had he been happier about witnessing such a drastic change in character.

"You look fine, Aziraphale," he said, and meant it. "It seems Earth has done you a lot of good."

"Well, I certainly feel fine," his brother replied happily. "These humans -- oh, they were definitely interesting in the Garden, but now! Especially the children. I just love them, they are so curious and lively."

"Pretty much like you, I'd say," Raphael commented, a smile on his lips. He, too, had noticed the change in Aziraphale, and was just as delighted as Gabriel.

"Whatever you say!" laughed the angel. "I love them. Abel in particular is just the cutest little thing I've ever seen. The day he took his first steps I was probably prouder than Eve."

Gabriel remembered the days of Aziraphale's childhood, the first tiny flutters of pearly white wings, the mix of pride and nervousness that had filled his heart when he watched his little brother flying about. Just like back then Raphael now stood at his side, arms wrapped around his waist, a reassuring presence that was not about to abandon him. And, just like then, he felt that Aziraphale was slipping from his grasp, leaving him, growing up in ways he couldn't control.

Bittersweet, perhaps, but still he felt the joy was greater than the grief.

They talked for a long time still, of the events of Earth as told by Aziraphale, and those of Heaven, the narration given by Raphael and Gabriel in somewhat equal parts. The young principality gave his latest official report straight to the archangels, who promised to get it properly filed, and told of everything he was planning to do in the near future, like exploring further the lands around where Adam and Eve lived. After all, there were other humans, too, and he wanted to see them all.

In the end, however, Aziraphale had to leave, a fact that greatly grieved Gabriel but couldn't really be helped. They bid their goodbyes, exchanging promises of visits to come - preferably sooner than in another few years. Then Aziraphale left the Heaven, two archangels watching as he exited the Pearly Gates.

Michael happened to come across them as they were returning to their apartment. "Did Aziraphale leave already?" he asked. As they gave him the positive answer, he continued, "He visited me, too, came right to the practice field. He borrowed a sword from one of my warriors and challenged me into a fight. I did win, but not by far - he clearly hasn't let his skills disappear." A proud grin lit up the warrior's face. "You should have seen the faces of the few youngest cherubim there."

"It must have been a true wonder to them, seeing a mere principality almost beating their leader," Raphael laughed. "Well, they will learn. Even I know that Aziraphale is a great warrior."

"And that is all you do know about the art of battle," Michael said teasingly. "Although you hardly need to know about how wounds are created, given how great you are at treating them."

"Oh, hush, you." Raphael smiled mildly. "Now, if you'd excuse us, I do think Gabriel would like to get some sleep." A hand on his lover's shoulder, he then started to lead the Messenger towards their apartment and the bed there.

Michael smiled after them. Then he turned to look at the Pearly Gates, a thoughtful look on his face.

Behind the Gates there was the Earth. And Aziraphale.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Red.  



	11. Red

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

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011. Red**

* * *

Aziraphale looked at the stain of red fluid at the ground, trembling slightly. He could almost hear it crying out to the skies, calling for justice to fall upon the one who had spilled it. 

He knew blood, of course. He couldn't have lived so many years on Earth without ever encountering blood, mostly animal, but sometimes human blood, too, when the kids fell down and injured their knees or something like that. However, that was different. Wounds he could deal with; they were a part of life. But this...

This was the blood of a man murdered. And it wasn't _right_.

Aziraphale felt ill.

Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He knew he should have stayed, should have been there for poor Eve who had just experienced a horrifying loss, should have been there radiating comfort and warmth. However, at the moment he was hurting too much himself to comfort anybody else. How could have Cain done such a thing? They had been brothers! They had loved each other! And now beloved Abel was dead, dead and gone forever, and Cain was sent out to wander the Earth, cursed wherever he went.

It just couldn't be possible. He had watched the boys from their very childhood, had watched over them and looked after them. He'd taken delight in their first steps, both of them, and led them away from danger as they'd run in their games, never allowing harm to come upon them in their play. He had been their guardian angel, yet when he had been most needed, he had failed them.

Unable to bear another moment of looking at the stain of blood on the ground he spread his wings and took off, heading up towards the sky, a scream of pain trailing after him as his tears shone in the sunlight.

* * *

Gabriel shook his head sadly as he looked at Aziraphale's broken form. The young angel lay in his bed, asleep, traces of tears still staining his face. He had been in a really bad shape when he had arrived. It had taken a lot of effort from both Raphael and Gabriel himself before he had calmed down enough to actually go to sleep. Even now his sleep was rather restless, and he kept tossing and turning like in the grip of a nightmare, murmuring quietly to himself every now and then. 

A hand was placed on his shoulder and he turned his head, looking at Raphael miserably. He didn't have to say anything, the other understood. Immediately he was pulled into an embrace. Resting his head against Raphael's shoulder, he sighed. "I wonder," he said quietly, "I wonder how many disappointments it will take before Aziraphale no more agrees to love anything that might cause him pain."

"I'm sure he's stronger than that," Raphael said comfortingly, holding him close. "Aziraphale is not about to give up. He'll get over this, rise back to his feet, and continue on his way; only now he will have one more experience to guide him along the road."

"Not all experiences are good, though," Gabriel said quietly. Then, with a sigh, he added, "But I think you're right. If he's going to continue staying on Earth, he will still have to face evil many a time. The less illusions he holds, the less he'll be hurt in the end."

"Why, such a cynical view of life, my dear," Raphael admonished him gently. Then he kissed Gabriel's cheek. "Come on now. It's about the time we get some sleep as well."

Gabriel complied.

* * *

Michael charged at his invisible enemy. A series of quick slashes, step left, strike right, jump, spread wings, _up_, fold wings from danger, land and strike, defend. An attack followed another as he went through his practice with speed that might have surprised even most of his warriors. He no more gave everything he had in the practice battels against other angels -- there was nobody who would have lasted long enough -- and he had got faster since the days of the Fall. He was ready to claim to be able to spread and fold his wings fastest of all of the Host. At the very least he didn't know of anybody else who could use their wings fast enough to only bring them out as a jumping aid in the middle of a fight. If he had known somebody with that kind of skill, he'd had one top warrior more. Speed and skill, he had come to notice, meant perhaps not everything in a battle but very near so indeed. 

Finally he landed again on his feet, his wings quickly disappearing, his sword extended in a strike. As he let the sword fall to his side, however, he heard a surprising sound from behind himself. Somebody was clapping their hands.

"Quite impressive, Our Fearless Leader," Aziraphale said with a slight smile. "I used to think that nobody could fight better than you did during the Fall, but I have been proven wrong. How is it even possible to use wings for such short bursts and hide them from harm the rest of the time?"

"Oh, it is possible easily enough," Michael said with a smirk, placing his sword back in its sheath. "It takes just practice, practice, some more practice, and about a thousand good explanations for Raphael as of how you've managed to sprain your wings, _again_."

Aziraphale laughed at that. "I wonder why he didn't simply lock you up in the end," he teased.

Michael chuckled. "Oh, rest assured that he tried to," he said, smirking. "However, Gabriel convinced him to let me be. So," he then said as he led Aziraphale out of the large, empty room he used for exercise and into the living room of his quarters, "what's brought you Up Here this time?"

Now, Aziraphale's expression turned dark. "He killed him," he blurted out.

"What?" Michael frowned in confusion. "Who killed who, exactly?"

"Cain," Aziraphale managed to say, "Cain... he killed Abel..." He cast his eyes down, tears gathering. He hardly even registered the comforting hand that was placed on his shoulder. "They were brothers, Michael! They'd been together all their lives! And not only that; they also were created in His own image, they were His children. How can such a horrible thing happen!"

"Aziraphale," said the warrior quietly, "the Man Fell, and so did his wife. They may have been created in His own image, but they are tainted with sin. And why are you so surprised? We are angels, after all, creatures of Light. We always feel Him and His love, we get to be closer to him than any other being in all of Creation, yet among us a brother killed another. Why would it be surprising that the humans, touched with sin and so far away from his Glory, raise their hands against one another?"

Aziraphale stood silent for a moment, then shook his head, eyes still downcast. "No... I suppose he isn't," he said, and then sighed. "I failed them, Michael, failed them all -- and you, too. I couldn't keep them from going that far, I couldn't protect them from each other --"

"Aziraphale?" Shut up," Michael said in his best command voice, and Aziraphale immediately did so. Even the other archangels were known to have obeyed Michael's commanding tone without a moment's hesitation. "You haven't failed anybody. It is not your task to keep humans from hurting each other. You may encourage good will and mercy and charity and things like that, all right. It's your job, after all. However, what you have to look after, what you have to take care of, is the humanity -- not the humans as individuals. You can't keep them from sinning as the Original Sin has tainted them. Humans have free will. What you have to do is to keep an eye out for the Enemy and his forces, thwart their evil, protect the humans from _them_ -- not from each other. If you even try to fulfill that task to the best of your abilities, nobody can demand any more from you."

"Nobody but myself," muttered Aziraphale. "And if I do not look after the humans, who is going to do so? Surely they can't be left to their own devices while I concentrate on the demons?"

"I never said that," Michael said. "Every human has their very own angel here in Heaven, and when need be, that angel shall go down to aid them. However much you may want to, you can't look after them all. And we can't protect them from all the sorrow and pain, either, just a small miracle here and there, where the need is strongest or the faith is faltering. They have free will, and, because of that, we are supposed to keep our hands off their business as completely as possible. Of course," he then added with a smile, "you, in your task of looking after the humanity, are allowed to do whatever miracles you want to in order to steer them to His direction. But only on general level, okay? Don't try to overdo it."

"I'll try to do as instructed, I suppose," Aziraphale said, a wavering smile on his lips. "But Michael... There was _blood_ on the ground, and it was red, and it looked so _wrong_..."

At this point, Michael drew the younger angel into an embrace, holding him as he sobbed and cried his shock and sorrow which he still hadn't properly dealt with. Too often they forgot that Aziraphale, for all his skills and years, was little but a child in the end. He still had to work for quite some time to achieve the calmness and serenity of an adult angel, a state where he may grieve but also came to accept the situation. Sorrow was one thing, breaking down completely another.

However, Aziraphale was still so very young, and he needed all the support Michael could give to him.

The warrior couldn't help but notice a few flecks of crimson on the younger angel's sleeve. It was human blood, already dry, but for some reason it still looked fresh.

Michael was an adult angel, one of the oldest ones, actually. Still, he felt a chill in his heart at that sight. Aziraphale had been right. It was so very, very wrong -- and, coming from the only angel who had firsthand heard Lucifer Morningstar's words against Him, the word "wrong" carried quite a lot of weight.

He didn't cry, though. He just stood there, serious and steady, and held Aziraphale until his tears ended.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Orange.  



	12. Orange

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

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012. Orange**

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Aziraphale reached out a hand to grasp a fruit. It smelled delicious, he decided as he drew it nearer, breathing deep the lovely scent of the fruit. Oh, how he i liked /i oranges. 

...He only liked them, though, didn't love. That was Raphael's field. Now there was an angel who absolutely loved oranges, always had, ever since he'd first tasted them.

Of course oranges did have their faults, too. Like the name. Seriously, orange? How very imaginative. On the other hand, you had to forgive poor Adam -- after so many animals and plants anybody's imagination would have been strained to name yet another somewhat round fruit of the citrus type. Or anything, really. And at least he hadn't stooped as low as to naming anything "adamion" or something.

Anyway. He liked oranges, and so did Raphael. And it was quite some time since he'd last visited Heaven, too. Perhaps he should take some fruit to the healer?

Suddenly his warrior's instincts warned him of a nearby battle, shaking him out of his thoughts. His senses immediately picked up demonic auras approaching -- and angelic ones, too, some very powerful. Silently berating himself for not noticing it earlier, he spread his wings and took off to the direction of the battle.

As he arrived to his destination, he immediately noticed that this wasn't just a small quarrel. There were some very powerful demons about, and Michael himself was leading the angels. As he approached, one of the angel warriors noticed him and frowned.

"Stand back, principality!" he shouted. "Watch out lest you be hurt in the battle!"

Aziraphale caught Michael's gaze and silently shook his head, drawing a small smile from the angelic leader. Virtues always thought too much of themselves, and apparently this one did so as well. He did fly some way back, though, being unarmed near some apparently very fierce demons.

Suddenly, though, he felt a clawed hand grasping on his ankle. Kicking at his unseen assaulter, he beat his wings a couple of times, then suddenly withdrew them, hoping to get the demon to let go. He wasn't as fast as Michael, but had indeed managed to acquire some speed with practice, and should be able to scare the demon off.

True enough, as he was falling nearer to the ground, the demon let go of him. Immediately he spread his wings again and moved away from the hellish fiend, turning to look at it. As he saw the other being's snakelike eyes, his own eyes narrowed in disgust.

"Crawly," he said, disgusted. "I should have known. Attacking from behind is rather your style, after all."

"You let your guard down too easssily, angel," hissed the demon, smirking fiercely as he flashed his claws. "I could easssily masssk myssself in the heat of the battle. If I'd wanted to, I could have killed you right away." There was an evil glint in his golden eyes.

"Then why didn't you?" shot Aziraphale back. "It is, after all, what your kind always strives for."

"Awww, you're no fun." The demon smirked again. "I jussst wanted a nice little fight for once. Or are you scared? The lassst time we met you did lossse, after all."

Crawly didn't have to say anything else; Aziraphale was already attacking. Oh, he did remember all too well his last meeting with the demon and the painful discorporation that had followed. It had taken ages to get his wings back in shape after it, too, and he'd fallen badly behind in his practice. Oh, it was well about the time the demon got what he had coming for that one.

His attack was responded to with just as fierce one. As the other angels and demons battled on, they were engaged in their own private battle, practiced for centuries with the intention to kill -- and, before there had been time, just to see who was the better one. After they had both lost their original swords and powers they were pretty equally matched, never able to tell the outcome of a battle before it was finished. So it was now as well, claws and fists, unholy and holy powers meeting each other.

Aziraphale suppressed a yelp of pain as the demon tore at his wing. Of course he went for the wing; it was the most vulnerable part of the body for them both, after all. Aziraphale made a quick decision -- after all, they were not i that /i high in the air. Withdrawing his wings, he clung to those of Crawly, determined to drag the other down to the ground with himself. They indeed now slid downwards, their combined weight only supported by Crawly's wings which weren't exactly well-functioning with an angel clinging to them, all the time fighting.

"You've no hope, you realize," Aziraphale said. "Even if you do win me, there are still a lot of angels around, including Michael. You're as good as dead."

"Well, at least I'll take you with me, then," smirked Crawly. "And as painfully as possible, too." With this, he suddenly sank his fangs into Aziraphale's shoulder. A burning sensation immediately tore at the angel as a hellish equivalent of a snake's venom spread into him. He yelped in pain, but then recovered quickly enough to fight back. As they were almost on the ground now, he let go of Crawly's wing with one hand, then punched his face as hard as he could. Letting go with his other hand as well, he kicked himself away from the demon, landing on the ground about six feet from the demon. Not giving him time to recover, Aziraphale then leapt into the air, brought out his wings for added momentum, and, beating with them, kicked Crawly's head. It fell back with a rather satisfying crush. The demon fell to the ground and then lay there, unmoving. Human bodies were sometimes ridiculously easy to discorporate.

Folding his wings as quickly as he could to get them out of the harm's way, Aziraphale then turned to face the battle. To his surprise, however, he discovered that the demons had all been slain or had fled. A few angels lay on the ground, apparently discorporated, but the others still stood there, tending each other's wounds. And staring at him, like he noticed.

Michael was grinning as he walked nearer. "I see you're definitely not out of practice," he said, satisfied. "Of course you could still be faster, but then again, not everybody can be me..."

"Nobody but you can be you, as far as I know," Aziraphale replied calmly. He then took a look at his shoulder, tearing the fabric of his robes to get a clear sight of the wound. It didn't look good, he decided. The skin was a very unpleasant purple colour.

"Let me see that," Michael said. "I'm not a healer and I know it, but I can do something about Hell venom." He grasped the wounded shoulder and frowned a bit in concentration. Aziraphale felt a wave of holiness coming from him, cleaning away the traces of demonic powers. A moment later his shoulder still felt sore, but at least it was now slowly returning to its normal colour.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing his shoulder a bit as Michael let go. "I think I won't even have to bother a healer. Except for that bite he did nothing I couldn't heal myself."

"That's the spirit," Michael said, grinning. "Now, won't you come up with us? I'm sure it's well about the time you visited your brother."

"That's exactly what I was planning," Aziraphale replied, smiling. "Just let me get some oranges for Raphael first. Maybe he'll then even forgive me for letting you heal my wound."

At that, the archangel laughed. "Doubtful," he said, "but at least he'll be easier on you." Then he turned towards his warriors. Many of them were staring at Aziraphale even more than before, amazed at the casual way he spoke about the Archangel of Healing. Some of the others -- the older and more high-ranking ones -- just grinned, knowing Aziraphale and his relation to Gabriel.

The principality himself, however, just ignored them, heading back to the orange trees.

* * *

"Good afternoon, my dear," Gabriel said, smiling as he saw Raphael walking into the room. "I hope you slept well." 

"Oh, well enough," replied Raphael, yawning a bit. "My head's still aching terribly, though." His eyes wandered to the table and suddenly widened. "Oranges!" he exclaimed in delight. "Where'd you get oranges?" Raphael didn't care much for other Earthly things in general, but for some reason he had developed quite a fondness for this particular fruit. He could easily tell the difference between a miracled orange and a genuine one, and thus Gabriel never miracled oranges into being. After all, he did not want to "tease him by offering the idea something that can't be reached," like Raphael himself said.

"Aziraphale was here," Gabriel replied, "and he of course brought you some oranges as he'd happened to come across some. And don't give me that look," he then continued calmly as Raphael glared at him even as he started to peel the first orange. "You needed your rest. He's still in Heaven, too -- he'll be visiting Michael for a while, but will then come back for you to see him."

"He'd better," muttered Raphael. "He managed to sneak out without giving me a proper explanation about his last discorporation. I swear, he changes bodies as often as other people do clothes!"

"Well, he hardly is getting discorporated all the time on purpose, you know," commented the Messenger dryly. "And he has taken down the demon quite a few times, too, so don't you start your lectures again. Aziraphale knows exactly what he is doing, and he is good at it, too."

"Not good enough," Raphael huffed. He took a slice from the fruit and bit at it. "I'll only consider him good when he hasn't been discorporated for a full decade. And even then I'll change my opinion as soon as he comes begging for a new body."

"Aw, he's not that bad," chuckled Gabriel. However, even as he spoke, his eyes were drawn to Raphael's lips, which were now glistening with orange juice. The healer noticed his line of sight and smirked. Then he took the rest of the orange slice between his lips and slowly sucked it into his mouth. Even more juice covered his lips now, and Gabriel unconsciously licked his own lips.

"Would you like some orange, too?" asked Raphael innocently, taking another slice off the fruit. Instead of just offering it to the Messenger, however, he put one end of it between his lips, raising an eyebrow. Gabriel didn't hesitate much before going over to him and taking the other end in his own mouth.

Their eyes remained locked even as their lips neared each other. Then their lips met, the slice of orange now about evenly shared between their mouths. Gabriel bit his own end of it and swallowed, then used his tongue to push the rest of the fruit into Raphael's mouth. The other archangel swallowed his share, too, and then kissed him. Gabriel responded eagerly, placing his hands on the small of Raphael's back, drawing him closer. Of course, Raphael did not resist much.

Suddenly Gabriel no more wished for Aziraphale to return soon.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Yellow  



	13. Yellow

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

* * *

013. Yellow**

* * *

Somebody was watching him and he knew it. 

He did not like it, not at all. It was very unnerving to say the least. Every now and then he thought he knew where it was, turning around as quickly as he could, but always it escaped. And still he could feel it, could feel the eyes on him.

A couple of times he was sure he saw it. A pair of eyes watching him from some shadow. Yellow, reptilian eyes.

"Crawly," he hissed, glaring at the direction where he'd last seen the eyes before they'd disappeared again. However, there was no response, no indication that the demon was around. And yet he knew.

Aziraphale suddenly wished he'd had a sword with him. He would have loved to just attack at the moment, to get rid of his invisible follower. However, he had no weapon, and knew better than to charge at an unseen enemy. That would be a very foolish move indeed.

The other being made no move, but the eyes still stayed on him. After some time he just decided to go on with his business, determined not to show his nervousness. That would do no good. However, his instincts were all at their height, following even the tiniest changes in his surroundings, paranoid.

Crawly did not attack. Neither did he leave.

* * *

As soon as Michael fell asleep he knew he wouldn't rest easy. 

Most of the time when he slept he would get the rest he craved for. However, some nights, while asleep, he was harassed by dreams that would not let him get any rest. And, apparently, this night was going to be one of those restless ones.

The dream began like it always did, always the same ever since the Fall. He didn't see anything, like he had still just lain there before falling asleep, his eyes closed. He felt somebody drawing away the sheets covering him, leaving his body bare. The bed shifted as another being settled onto it.

A soft touch came first, fingers gently brushing his shoulder. It travelled downwards, wandering over his chest, teasing his nipples, caressing muscles. Finally it settled onto his waist, warm, loving.

The dream was very vivid, like always; had he not known better, he might have thought it was reality. Well, probably not. He didn't know if it was because of his angelic origin or if it was unique to him -- dreams weren't a topic he often discussed with other angels, after all -- but he always knew when he was dreaming. It was like his body, a part of him, had experienced the dream, while his conscious self was observing it from the side. He couldn't change the dream, but he did know it for what it was.

The hand still resting on his waist, next came the mouth. A tiny kiss on his forehead, his both eyelids, cheeks, and finally his lips. Soft lips were pressed against his, the kiss a soft sign of affection at first but soon turning into a more heated, passionate one. His dream self responded to the kiss just as eagerly, his body stirring in reaction to it. Never mind that there had been no such a thing as gender when the memories the dream was based on had been created; his subconsciousness was apparently good at adapting things.

The other mouth left his, placing tiny kisses along his jawline, down his neck, his chest. A tongue flicked out, tasting his left nipple, teasing it. Michael heard a quiet moan coming from himself as the mouth then travelled further down only to return shortly.

He didn't want to do anything, wanted to wake up and forget the whole thing, but he couldn't. Without his wish his hands wandered up, about to tangle themselves in the yellowish golden locks so familiar to him...

Only to sink into soft curls noticeably shorter than those of Lucifer.

Michael -- or at least the little bit of his mind that was still conscious; his dream self didn't seem to find anything amiss -- was surprised. Now, what was this? Was it not Lucifer?

Now, his dream self slowly opened its eyes, and sight was added to the dream. He found himself staring right into deep green eyes looking back at him from a pale face surrounded by short, wild locks of midnight-black hair. A name slipped from his lips, both in the dream and in his real mind.

"Uriel..."

Michael woke up with a startle. He sat up in his bed, shivering slightly. As always after such a dream, the scene continued to play over and over in his mind, refusing to leave. However, unlike all the other times, it was not Lucifer's face smiling at him in his mind that haunted him for the next day.

It was Uriel's. And that was even worse.

* * *

Crawly watched the angel, keeping out of sight. A couple of times the angel's eye caught him, making the divine being wary, but never did Aziraphale attack. For that was Crawly glad. He was in no condition to fight right now anyway. 

A wrong movement sent a jolt of pain through his body and he grimaced inwardly. He'd just had an encounter with an overzealous angel. The angel hadn't been even close to Aziraphale's level, but enough of a trouble to leave him injured. He was absolutely unable to fight with Aziraphale at the moment.

Well, of course he could have fought. He wasn't that badly injured, thank you very much. The point was, he would have hardly stood a chance against Aziraphale. Much as he hated to admit it, the angel could fight -- and he had gotten even better all the time. Fortunately Crawly himself had also gotten better since the time of the Fall, and under usual circumstances he and Aziraphale were pretty evenly matched. Now, however, he was already beaten -- and yet another angel had to beg for a new corporation, served him right -- and thus could only follow. Observe. Learn.

And perhaps find a new weakness to use on his advantage.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Green.  



	14. Green

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

* * *

014. Green**

* * *

Aziraphale frowned as he glanced at Michael. The Commander of the Host was behaving very strangely indeed. He was quiet, serious, withdrawn, sometimes even miserable -- everything he usually was not. Even Gabriel had noticed it; he had talked about it with his brother, who had also noticed it but could not offer an explanation any more than he could. 

"He's been like that for some time already," Gabriel had told him. "Neither Raphael nor I have been able to find out just what is wrong with him. Whenever we ask him he just insists that nothing's wrong and continues being strange. it is getting rather worrying."

Now, Aziraphale was determined to find out what was wrong with Michael. Thus he hung around the much older angel as much as he could, observing him, following his every move. At first he was just confused, but slowly he began to recognize some symptoms he'd previously seen in humans. By now he was almost certain he knew just what was wrong with Michael. The hard part would be getting him to admit it.

The question that now had him frowning was who. As in, who exactly Michael was in love with?

Finally he decided he wouldn't find it out just by watching Michael, so he gathered all his courage -- which was quite a fair bit -- and simply asked. As could only be expected, Michael was rather startled at first. Then, however, he regained his composure and gave Aziraphale a rather odd gaze.

"In love? Me?" he asked, trying to sound like Aziraphale had just told the best joke of all times. As the Principality merely stared at him patiently, waiting for him to answer, he finally sighed. "You're right," he admitted quietly. "I am in love, quite hopelessly, even. And I can never even tell about it to the one I love."

"Why not?" asked Aziraphale, quite confused. "Surely they'd like to know such a thing? Love is such a beautiful thing! And even if they don't love you back, at least you would get to know that it truly is hopeless and could start trying to get over it and find somebody who returns your feelings."

Again, Michael sighed. "Three words for you, Aziraphale," he said seriously. "I love Uriel."

"Oh, said Aziraphale. Then, after a small pause, again, "Oh."

This was truly a tricky matter, then. Aziraphale knew very well that Uriel wasn't too keen on letting anybody close to him. In fact, he always kept everybody as far as politely possible. Oh, he did have friends -- the other archangels --, but even them he didn't let too close. "Withdrawn" didn't even begin to describe him.

Aziraphale almost told Michael to simply forget it. It would be practically impossible to get Uriel to love anybody aside from Him -- after all, as sad as it was, he didn't trust anybody but himself when it came down to it. No healthy relationship could be placed on lack of trust.

However, he saw the pain in Michael's eyes as he spoke of it. For speak Michael did, like a dam had broken inside him, pouring all of his dreams and fears and futile hopes onto Aziraphale. And Aziraphale listened attentively, genuinely interested, at the same time trying to figure out a way in which Uriel might be made to respond to Michael's feelings. Unfortunately, he couldn't come up with anything useful. He wasn't a stupid angel by any means, rather he considered himself more intelligent than average, even if the capacity of his mind didn't come even close to the sharpness of Uriel's. Still, it seemed like a problem impossible to solve. Uriel may have cared, but he didn't love, he may have found reliable, but he didn't trust. He had trusted and loved once, and was apparently determined not to make the same "mistake" again.

Still, Aziraphale kept thinking, for before his eyes Michael was drained by his hopeless love, falling deeper and deeper into his misery with every passing day.

He couldn't find a solution.

* * *

It was morning. Well, it was morning somewhere, and the sun was rising. Michael was there, standing beside Uriel as the other archangel was checking up on the Sun, making sure it was shining brightly enough. Well, in reality there of course was no need to check such a thing as it always shone as brightly, but Uriel had wanted some silence far from Heaven and had allowed Michael to go with him only if the warrior promised to stay quiet. And he did, watching as Uriel checked the glowing ball of gas, then made sure Earth was going around on a regular pace so that the Sun appeared to move steadily. In the bright light Uriel was merely a shiny figure of infinite beauty, and Michael was grateful for the unbearable heat that had forced him to abandon his human body for the time being. Had he been in human form -- and, worse even, making an effort -- he wasn't sure whether he could have hid his reaction to Uriel's closeness. 

Finally Uriel was satisfied and sat down on the edge of a cloud, watching as the Sun crept over the horizon. Michael settled down beside him. However, his eyes were drawn to something entirely else.

The Morning Start twinkled a bit as if mocking him .He sighed.

Uriel noticed his distraction and followed his gaze. Realizing what was the only thing on that part of the sky that could possibly interest Michael, he then hesitated for a moment before laying a gentle hand on the other's arm. "Do you miss him?" he asked, a bit of wondering in his voice. Ah, yes. Michael doubted Uriel even knew just how deep his "friendship" with Lucifer had run.

"Sometimes, yes," Michael replied quietly. "Sure, I know that it was his own choice to turn his back to Him, but sometimes... sometimes I can't help but wonder whether I could have done something and prevented it all."

Uriel gave him an odd gaze, the emerald eyes full of confusion -- a rare sight indeed. "What do you mean? Surely you had no more chance at accomplishing that than any of us others."

"Well, I'd like to think I had," Michael said dryly. "After all, we were lovers."

Uriel stared at him in shock, not saying a word. Michael went on, deciding to talk now that he'd started to do so. "Shortly before the Fall... we were not so close," he said slowly, now recalling the pain and confusion of his lover drawing away while still claiming to love him. "Sure, there were no days then, but I do know it was quite some time since we'd last made love. If that had happened closer to the Fall, I probably would have noticed the changes in him -- which most probably is the reason he grew more distant."

"How is that even possible?" Uriel asked disbelievingly, apparently having now got over his worst shock. "I mean, there were no genders before Creation! Forgive me if I'm terribly mistaken, but making love would in my knowledge be rather difficult for two sexless beings."

Michael cringed at the other's tone. There wasn't only disbelief there; disgust was also present. And to think that he might make Uriel disgusted...

"It was different back then," he explained quietly, carefully avoiding the piercing emerald eyes. "Even before there was a thing such as gender, He had given us the gift of... loving. It's hard to describe; you just can't understand it if you haven't experienced it yourself. But, basically, the couple abandons even their angelic forms and allows their essences to merge. Of course it is only temporary, but the feeling of being so close to the other, of sharing every and each of their feelings and emotions and hopes and fears... It's amazing." He swallowed, closing his eyes briefly as he thought back to the days of his love with Lucifer. It had been amazing, yes -- and created some painful memories.

"That sounds... unnecessary," Uriel said slowly. "Why would an angel ever want to join with anybody but Him? His love should be enough to keep any angelic being content; why should you seek the love of others? Surely you have noticed from your own experience that angelic love cannot be trusted to last. He will not turn His back to you unless you turn your back to Him. That is why all beings should love Him above everything and everyone else."

"I never said otherwise!" Michael exclaimed, always quick to defend. "I didn't say I loved Lucifer more than Him. Rather, Lucifer loved himself more than Him," he added with a slightly bitter tone. "And I know that love ended badly -- I was the one to cast him out of Heaven! But that doesn't mean that all love is destined to fail!" He thought about Raphael and Gabriel, and swallowed. Then he thought about Uriel, looking again at the wonderful, beautiful emerald eyes, and swallowed again.

Surely not all love could fail?

"Yes, you were the one to cast him out of Heaven, I'll give you that," Uriel said quietly. "And I was the one to cast all the rest out, I caused them to Fall from Grace. All of them, Michael -- including my little brother." Michael turned even more attentive at this. He hadn't heard Uriel voluntarily even mentioning Carowiel ever since the Fall, not in any context. "You saw what happens when one's love for something surpasses their love for Him. I felt it. And the one being I ever loved aside from Him betrayed me, betrayed both my love and His, and I had to feel his Fall as well among all the others. That's why I could never again even consider loving anybody but Him."

Michael couldn't help but grimace at that. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked quietly. His hope and desperation probably showed in his eyes but he was beyond caring. He had to know.

Uriel opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it again, watching him closely. And then, to Michael's great shock and disappointment, his expression turned into one of barely controlled horror.

"No, Michael, don't say it," pleaded the darkhaired beauty, his eyes wide with something that could only be identified as fear. "Please... please tell me I'm mistaken." There was pleading in his eyes, pleading and desperate hope. And Michael could only kill that hope, as much as he hated doing that.

"I'm sorry, Uriel," he said quietly, turning his eyes away from the other's face. "I -- I can't help it. It's like somebody had taken my heart, carved your name on it, and put it back into my chest. I definitely didn't ask for it, that's for sure, but it's a fact and I can't help it. I'm in love with you."

For a long time Uriel just sat there, staring at him, equal parts horrified and shocked. And, as it appeared, repulsed.

"Do not," Uriel finally said flatly. "Just... do not love me. I do not deserve that. And besides, I don't want to be the one to draw your -- or anyone's -- attention from Him. For any reason." He turned his face away from Michael, and the warrior's heart broke.

"I understand," he said quietly, not looking at the other archangel in fear of being hurt even more. Even now it felt like his heart had been twisted by fierce claws, twisted and torn and thrown away. "However, I can't just decide not to love you anymore, so I'll just make sure not to bother you ever again." He stood up, spread his wings, and took off. "Be well, Uriel."

Then he was flying, hurrying towards their home, and the wind rushed past his ears and covered what farewell Uriel may have called out after him.

* * *

Gabriel glanced up from his papers as the door to his study was thrown open. As he saw the person in the doorway -- and, more importantly, the state they were in -- his eyes widened in shock. "Michael!" he exclaimed, rushing to his feet. "What happened? You look -- you look miserable." 

"Why, thank you, Gabriel," the warrior said dryly, but his voice wavered slightly. "I always knew you l-loved m-me." His voice almost broke at the last words. Now, Gabriel walked quickly to the other's side, taking a gentle but firm hold of his arm, and led him to the living room. There he set his colleague down on a comfortable seat, sitting down opposite to him, eyeing him questioningly.

"Now, tell me what is wrong," he said quietly. "You have avoided telling it for ages now. However, this can't go on anymore. You're a wreck, Michael, and I won't allow this to go on, whatever it is." His eyes stayed fixed on the other archangel as he fell silent again, waiting.

Michael didn't say anything. Just as Gabriel was about to repeat his question -- he would find out, one way or another, and why'd have Michael come to look for him if he didn't want to talk? -- somebody else entered the room. They both turned to look at the newcomer, who was staring at them with a shocked expression.

"Michael?" asked Aziraphale carefully. "What happened?" After a momentary pause, he continued, "It is about him, isn't it?"

Now, this was definitely interesting, Gabriel decided. He watched closely as his little brother walked to Michael's side, brushed aside a stray lock of hair, murmured a few quiet words to get him to calm down. This was exactly what he might have done had Gabriel himself been upset. Even though officially he was only Gabriel's brother, in reality Aziraphale was like a little brother -- or a son, angelic relations being rather complicated -- to them all.

Suddenly Michael broke into tears. Now Gabriel could do little but just stare in mute shock. Michael never cried, never. It was as impossible as the Sun being on the sky at night. And yet he saw it before his very eyes, the tears rolling down pale cheeks, and heard a quiet voice starting to speak, reciting a story of the recent events.

Slowly, he began to understand. But he still couldn't believe.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Blue 


	15. Blue

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** This chapter contains suicidal behaviour and an attempt at suicide. If such a thing offends or upsets you, please do not read this chapter.

You have been warned.

**

* * *

015. Blue**

* * *

To put it simply, Aziraphale felt ill. 

It was simply horrifying, all of it. Everywhere around him people lived in sin, caring nothing about God or His Will. They worshipped false gods, cared nothing about the sacred matrimony, drank and ate and paid no other thought to what awaited them in the end of it all.

He could simply not bear it anymore.

It was too much, all of it. The people who still believed were so very few, a couple of families at most, and the evil powers were weighing him down. He had to get out of there, recharge and rest, before he collapsed under the darkness.

Spreading his wings, he took off towards Heaven, a small sob escaping his chest.

* * *

Gabriel sighed as he walked through the halls of Heaven. Aziraphale's depression was had upset him quite a bit. Could the situation on Earth truly be that bad? He had known that humans had moved further away from Him, but hadn't realized just how bad it had got. 

Perhaps Azirpahale was exaggerating, or had misunderstood the situation. Yes, that must be it. Humanity couldn't have abandoned Him so completely.

...But what if Aziraphale was indeed right?

Well, wondering alone would not bring any answers. Perhaps Uriel could tell him something? After all, as far as he could recall, Uriel had just been ordered to visit Earth.

With this in mind, he headed for the Pearly Gates, his intention to wait for the return of the other archangel.

* * *

Uriel closed the door to his quarters with shaking hands. He leant back against the door, the sword in his hand falling to the floor as his grip failed. He just managed to kick it away before his legs gave out and he sank to the floor, still trembling. 

Green eyes were closed as the archangel tried to collect his thoughts. He had his arms wrapped around himself but they provided no warmth as overwhelming coldness washed over him.

He couldn't feel Him. In the middle of Heaven, in His own domain, the Angel of Divine Presence couldn't feel Him.

It wasn't the worst he had experienced, of course. Through the first Fall He had been with him all the time, thankfully, even if the pain had still been horrible, but he had Felled angels even after that, and several more powerful ones than the principality who had Fallen that day. However, he didn't think he had ever felt quite so cold and lonely ever before. It felt like he was the only being left in the whole Universe.

Had he said that he didn't require company he wouldn't have been exactly lying. Under normal circumstances he never felt lonely, His Presence accompanying him day and night like a loyal friend. However, whenever he had to Fell another angel, he lost the feel of the Presence for a while as well. Oh, he was still very much an angel; he didn't Fall. However, he couldn't feel Him. And it hurt.

An angel could only Fall once, they said; once you went down, there was no way out. Still he, the one who had never rebelled, never questioned, had to go through the pain of the Fall over and over again.

A pained gasp burst out as he once again tried uselessly to reach Him. He felt so cold and empty, like a fire that usually was aflame within him had suddenly been smothered. Without the protective aura he could also feel the Enemy's touch even here, in His Heavenly Kingdom.

Another kind of pain flashed through him from a wound on his arm, and he hissed quietly at it. The desperate angel -- now a demon -- had tried to protect himself with a cursed knife. In the end it hadn't helped, of course, but it had indeed left Uriel wounded.

Almost without his knowing one of his hands left its place futilely shielding him from the cold, reaching for the pouch on his belt, trembling all the time. Shaky fingers somehow managed to undo the strings keeping the pouch closed, reaching inside. His fingertips were burned as they met the cool metal object there, but he ignored the pain, drawing the knife out.

For a moment he just stared at the knife, holding it in his hand despite the pain it caused. He should have just destroyed it. However, he felt himself being oddly... drawn... to it.

The knife did burn, but not nearly as badly as his aching soul.

He was breathing heavily now, a true testament to the amount of his pain, even more so being his rapidly beating heart. His heart never beat, nor did he ever breathe unless absolutely necessary. To lose control of his body so completely...

A strangled sob escaped his chest as he brought the cursed knife to his wrist. He was not within the Presence now, nor did he have demonic powers to retain his essence. This was his chance. If he died now, the pain would hopefully be over forever.

The blade cut through his flesh, burning, hurting. Silvery blood gushed out of the wound, illuminated by a special inner glow. His essence, what might have been called his soul had he had one, was pouring out of him, his very existence nearing its end with each silver drop.

With violently trembling hands he cut open the other wrist as well, the knife falling to the ground as soon as he was done. At some point he had moved away from the door, now lying in the middle of the large room, bleeding to death in the very heart of the Golden City.

His sight was becoming dimmer by every passing second, the pain growing more distant as well. It felt like he was sliding away, falling further from existence. Darkness enveloped him, and he welcomed it like a dear friend.

He never heard the knocking on his door.

* * *

Aziraphale shivered. Staying in Heaven for a while had done him a lot of good, as had the company of his brother and the other archangels, although he had been upset to discover that Michael was still avoiding Uriel. Now, however, he could again sense evil, wrongness, here in the middle of Heaven. He didn't know what it was. However, he did know that it could cause nothing good.

* * *

Gabriel frowned as he headed towards the archangels' quarters. At the Gates he had heard that Uriel had already returned, looking quite distracted. The guards had also mentioned that something had seemed to be amiss with Uriel's aura, even though they had been unable to explain just what it had been. Nobody seemed to know where Uriel had gone to, though. 

Therefore Gabriel soon found himself standing at Uriel's door, knocking at it. If something really was wrong with Uriel, this was where he would be found; he had always been a lonely wolf, like Michael had come to notice -- much to his disappointment.

Just as he thought about Michael the blond archangel came into sight. "Why are you here?" asked Gabriel, genuinely surprised. "I thought you were instructing virtues."

"True enough," Michael said, "but something's wrong with Uriel. I don't know what, but I know something isn't right. And even though I did promise to stay away from him, I have to see him to myself before I can believe that he's all right."

Gabriel blinked. Now that Michael mentioned it, he had an uneasy feeling, too, but he could have never connected it to Uriel. Well, all the more reason to find out what it was all about.

"Uriel?" he called out. "Uriel, are you there?"

There was no answer. However, he could now clearly feel Uriel's aura inside the rooms. Frowning again, he miracled the door unlocked. He was about to open it and step inside, but Michael beat him to that. Then, however, the warrior froze in the doorway. Frowning again, Gabriel walked to his side, trying to peer inside around Michael's considerably larger form.

For a moment he just stared at the horrifying sight before him, frozen. There was Uriel, indeed, lying motionless on the floor, a puddle of silvery blood spreading around him. On the floor, apparently fallen from his hand, lay a dagger that emitted clear demonic powers, its blade stained by the same silvery angel blood that was still pouring from the wounds on Uriel's wrists.

For a moment Gabriel stood there, frozen. Then he regained control over his body -- and cried out in horror, a wordless scream, echoed by Michael's even more desperate cry of one word, one name.

"Uriel!"

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Purple  



	16. Purple

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**016. Purple**

* * *

Raphael looked up at the worried faces of his fellow archangels. "I've done what I can," he said. "He will survive; however, he'll need a lot of rest before he's back to full health. You found him pretty much at the last moment." 

Michael nodded, chewing his lip worriedly. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked quietly, sounding almost helpless. This was a situation in which he was of no help.

Raphael's expression softened a bit. He knew very well how hard this was to the Warrior. "Please go to find Aziraphale," he said. "Tell him what happened, but also warn him not to tell anybody else. This should not become public knowledge. I promise I'll contact you as soon as Uriel wakes up."

"Don't." Michael lowered his gaze. "I don't think he'd be too happy to see me. I'm content to know that he will be all right." A bit hesitantly he brushed a lock of ebony hair from Uriel's forehead. "I just wish I knew what caused him to do this... So that I could make sure it never happens again." After another moment of looking at the pale, immobile figure on the newly created bed, he turned around and left.

Gabriel and Raphael exchanged serious glances. Uriel was not the only one in need of help at the moment.

* * *

"Aziraphale?" 

Aziraphale looked up from his current study of one of Raphael's books. It was a beautiful thing, with pictures of medical herbs and plants drawn by Uriel's skilled hand with techniques still unknown to humanity, the text written by Gabriel containing every single detail humans knew of healing with the use of plant life at the moment. He'd provided the information himself; Gabriel hadn't told what it was for but had said it would be a surprise for Raphael. Well, he was definitely glad to have been involved in the making of such a wonderful thing.

Now, however, somebody was calling for him -- judging by the voice, Michael. This intrigued him quite a bit. He had gone to the practice field to find Michael only to be told that the archangel had left a moment before. Then, when he had come back, he had found neither his brother nor Raphael nor a single hint of where they might have gone to. Therefore, he had decided to occupy himself with the books. (Humans had writing, but they didn't have books. Books, he had come to discover, were the most enjoyable way to preserve writing.)

"I'm here," he called back, at the same time standing up and walking towards the door. "Do you have any idea --"

He never finished the sentence. Instead, he stood frozen in the middle of the room, staring at Michael who had just appeared in the doorway. After a moment he finally regained his speaking abilities.

"...Who's dead?" he blurted out, for that was the first thought that came into his head as he saw Michael's absolutely miserable appearance. Never mind that there was silvery angel blood all over Michael's clothes while no wound was to be seen on him.

"Nobody," sighed Michael, "thankfully. It wasn't by far, though."

Aziraphale blinked. Now that he hadn't expected, not seriously, despite his initial reaction. "Who was it?" he asked quietly. "And why? _How_?"

"Uriel," Michael replied, almost choking at the name. "Gabriel and I went into his apartment... there was blood everywhere, he was just lying there in the middle of all the blood, his own blood..." He swallowed, then managed to continue, "Suicide. He attempted suicide. Uriel tried to kill himself and we don't even know why."

For some time, Aziraphale remained silent. Finally, he managed to ask, "Is that why Gabriel and Raphael aren't here?" It wasn't what he really wanted to ask, no, but despite all the questions filling his mind it was the only thing that would come out at the moment.

"Yes," Michael sighed. "Raphael healed him - well, not completely, but enough that he will survive. I - I don't want to be around when he wakes up. It's enough that I know he will be all right."

"Is it really?" asked Aziraphale quietly, still trying to deal with his shock. "How long can you keep this up?"

"However long Uriel feels uncomfortable with the fact that I love him. Forever, if need be." Michael closed his eyes. "I just hope I knew why he did it so I could stop it from happening ever again..."

Aziraphale was silent, just watching the warrior. He could not understand this kind of devotion. Sure, he loved Him, like all angels, and he knew Michael loved Him more than anything else, too. However, he couldn't even imagine loving any other being so fiercely. As much as his brother and Raphael loved each other, he doubted even they had reached that level of absolute loyalty and selflessness for the good of the other. Or perhaps they had, but it definitely didn't show as clearly as in Michael. The warrior's fierce love for Uriel was plain as day.

He didn't know what to say. He doubted there was anything to say, either. So, he did the only thing he could think of, walked to Michael, and drew the taller being into an embrace.

* * *

"Gabriel?" 

The voice was quiet, almost inaudible. In most situations Gabriel wouldn't have even heard something like it. Now, however, all his attention was centred on the being lying on the nearby bed, and thus when the whispered call passed the pale lips he immediately heard it.

"I am here, Uriel," he said gently, leaning towards his colleague. "How are you feeling?"

He was alone in the room aside from Uriel. Michael hadn't returned, which did not surprise him, and he had sent Raphael to get some much needed rest - and to check on Michael, of course. He did trust Aziraphale to be able to look after Michael, but it never hurt to be sure.

"Awful... I feel awful," came the whispered response. "And I'm alive. I shouldn't be. I should be dead now, I want to be dead."

"Don't say that!" Gabriel snapped, his tone sharper than he had intended. "Do you realize how much we feared you had indeed managed to kill yourself? I don't want that. None of us does. It'd break Michael completely, too, and I don't want to even begin to think how Aziraphale would react."

"Michael. How could it break him? I never even see him anymore. Nevermore. He's probably forgotten about me now. That's good for him."

"How can you say such a thing? Michael loves you. He stays away because he knows it makes you uneasy to know that he does. Today he was there with me when I found you -- he had sensed that something was wrong with you, and had been unable to stay away. And even now, he left as soon as Raphael could tell for sure that you would survive, not wanting to upset you by being here. But he is about to break, Uriel. I could see that."

There was no answer. After a moment Gabriel decided to try a different subject. "Why did you do it, Uriel?" he asked quietly, half expecting the other to again neglect to answer. "What would drive you to do such a thing?"

For a moment, there was only absolute silence. Then, Uriel said, "I couldn't feel Him."

"What?" asked Gabriel, startled. "Do you mean you couldn't feel God? But -- how? You're the Angel of Divine Presence!"

"Yes, I am indeed that." Uriel sighed a bit. "However, today I had to Fell an angel. And whenever I do so, for a short time afterwards, I can't feel Him. He is still there, I still carry His Presence, but I can't feel Him anymore. He's as good as gone to me. And it hurts, Gabriel. It hurts so very much." He sighed. "I do understand why some angels lose their sanity upon Falling. That loneliness, emptiness... It's almost unbearable." The emerald eyes were closed for a moment. "I was all alone. Usually, even though I'm otherwise lonely, He is always there. Now, He wasn't. And this time it became too much for me to bear."

Gabriel couldn't find anything to say, not a single word that could have fit the situation. Therefore, he just laid a hand on the other's pale arm, as if to remind that he was still there and wasn't going anywhere. Under his somewhat calm appearance he was horrified. Uriel had carried this kind of a secret for He only knew how long? Practically Falling whenever some angel was to Fall? How could he have kept such a secret? Surely it would have been easier to bear if he only had allowed others to help!

"Why didn't He stop me this time?" asked Uriel suddenly. "Whenever I've tried something like that before, He has stopped me before I've managed to do any real damage. Why not now? Has He decided I'm a lost cause?"

"Now, Uriel, I will have none of that talk," Gabriel said, his voice firm and gentle at the same time. He deliberately ignored the comment about past attempts of the same nature. Better not to think about that right now; it could be dealt with later on. "He is omniscient and knew that Michael and I would be coming there in time. Perhaps He just thought that it's about the time you learn to trust other people, not just yourself and Him. This might be a sign from Him for you to change your views."

"And what? Accept Michael as my lover? I'm sorry, Gabriel, but that's not going to happen."

"Nobody's telling you to have him as a lover. However, would being friends be too much of an effort to you? It's not a wonder that you feel lonely if you are always alone."

Uriel didn't answer. He looked away.

Gabriel decided not to press the issue.

* * *

"Well?" asked Michael quietly. He did not look at Gabriel. Aziraphale did, blue eyes serious as ever. Raphael was not there. Hopefully he was sleeping. 

"He is lonely, apparently," Gabriel sighed. "That, and he's in pain. For some reason he never cared to inform any of us that whenever he Fells an angel, he experiences the pain of the Fall himself. The emptiness -- the feeling that the only being who is there for him is God, and then even He being absent -- simply became too much for him to bear." He shook his head sadly. "I do hope he would have told us. Perhaps we could have helped."

Michael looked miserable. Aziraphale, however, merely nodded slowly, looking far more serious than one of the youngest angels should have had any right to.

"It does make sense," he said quietly. "Well, of course every demon hates him even more than the other angels, but that hardly matters. But even among our own, he's avoided. Everybody's wary of him. Even those who aren't uneasy about the mere idea of Falling by his hand think he'd be more suitable for a demon than an angel. Pitiless as any demon, indeed."

"Of course he is," muttered Michael. "Uriel, if anybody, knows that they have deserved their punishment. No amount of pity can change that. But I too am pitiless! Upon seeing a demon I do not stop to consider whether he really deserved to Fall! Yet nobody ever criticizes me for that. Why is it so? Because I'm loud and flashy and obvious about it, while he goes around quietly, not making a fuss about what he does?"

Gabriel sighed, massaging his temples. He didn't have a headache -- while angels could most certainly experience such things, that was not the case at the moment -- but he felt like he might acquire one any moment now. It definitely wouldn't surprise him at all. "You're perhaps pitiless, Michael," he said quietly, "however, you are not without mercy. Uriel has neither pity nor mercy for unrepenting sinners -- and, sad as it is, he doesn't deal with any other kind. Angels tend to avoid those of our own kind who do not have mercy in them. Why do you think so many angels have been tricked by demons who have made themselves appear to be dying? Mercy and compassion, if not exactly pity, are basic instincts for us. When it comes to demons, Uriel lacks those entirely. That is why everybody is wary of him."

"Yes. You're right." Michael sighed, too. It was, after all, a well-known fact. Uriel may have been the Angel of Repentance and Salvation, but when one didn't repent, he had no mercy. He might have not initiated a fight -- rather, he preferred to stay neutral as far as he could -- but when he had to fight, he would take it to the end, not try to just wound or drive away like most angels would have. "I just wish it wasn't that way, though. I wish he didn't feel lonely..."

"We all do, Michael," Aziraphale said softly. "We all wish those things. At the moment, however, the only thing we can do for Uriel is being there for him."

Michael smiled humourlessly. "Oh, yes. If only he would allow that," he muttered.

Neither Aziraphale nor Gabriel commented on that.

* * *

"What do you mean, give up some of my duties?" asked Uriel. "Are you saying I'm not doing my job as well as I should?" 

"Oh, no. It would never even cross my mind to suggest that," Gabriel replied. "It is just that you are obviously overstressed. Raphael felt it would be the best if you weren't under so much stress. It wouldn't even have to be a lot, just a few things you give up on. You hardly even have time for all your tasks at the moment."

Uriel didn't look too convinced. "And what do you suggest I would give up, then?" he asked doubtfully.

"What about music?" asked Gabriel. "You never seemed as fond of it as you are of the other forms of arts, and there certainly are angels with musical talents even outside the choirs of the seraphim. I assume you would know who'd be best suited for that task. Just pick the best choice and I'll have them transferred into your forces."

"So it'll be anybody I choose, eh?" Uriel asked, raising an eyebrow. "You do realize I'll have to take one of yours. The few healers who do have some talent also have voices too soft to lead any choir, and of Michael's warriors nobody has been able to sing properly ever since Aziraphale's departure."

For a moment images flashed in his mind's eye, images of a little angel boy standing by his side and learning his first hymns along with the choirs of seraphim, of a young warrior still sweaty from a sword practice raising his pure, clear voice in song, of black hair and blue eyes and a voice more beautiful than that of any other angel. However, he forced himself to forget such things. That was not an option. Not anymore.

"Israfel," he said after a moment of thinking. "He's the best singer I can think of outside the seraphim, and has always shown a considerable interest in music. He would be the best choice."

"Excellent." Gabriel beamed. "I believe they're looking into the possibility of having a fifth archangel named, too."

Now, Uriel suddenly looked quite upset -- even more so than before, that is. His lips moved, forming words his voice even quieter than before, and Gabriel could only barely hear what exactly he was saying.

_"Five archangels before the Fall_

_Stepped forth when they heard the Call_

_One of them wanted to fight_

_The other one did that all right_

_Third one died, the poor dear_

_Fourth one had some news to hear_

_And the last one, I may tell:_

_Pretty Morningstar he Fell."_

Gabriel couldn't say anything to that. Therefore, he merely squeezed Uriel's hand.

* * *

The sky was covered in storm clouds, dark and threatening. The last remaining rays of the sun soon disappeared behind the purple curtain of the clouds. Instead of the thunder many had expected, however, it simply began to rain. At first the humans were delighted to have rain for their thirsty fields, having awaited it for quite a while. However, as the rain just continued without an end, they began to worry and panic. 

The few that believed were safe; that had been taken care of. Animals would survive, too -- especially the fish; they wouldn't have the slightest worry, what with all the water. However, most of all the life on Earth, including all the humans who did not believe, were going to drown.

Aziraphale watched all this, feeling no pity. In that he could have made even Uriel proud.

They had been warned, he decided. Noah had told them to change their ways, yet they hadn't repented. Now the time had come for divine judgement to be dealt -- and at this point, there would be no more mercy.

The waters continued to rise, the rain only getting worse. As land was covered with water, the flood claiming even the very last bits of ground, as humans and animals drowned all alike, as God dealt with the evil that had made its nest in His humans, an angel was sitting on the roof of the ark and watching.

The waves were reflected in deep blue eyes, the heavy rain battering pure white wings, but Aziraphale stayed unaffected. He had been given the task of watching over humanity, and watch over them he would, even if humanity now consisted only of the few survivors inside the ark he was guarding. And would continue to guard.

Although he couldn't see it, he could sense that somehow, somewhere, in that all the time rising sea a fish with suspiciously snakelike eyes was swimming, looking for even a bit of relatively dry land to make into his outpost.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Brown 


	17. Brown

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

* * *

**

**017. Brown**

* * *

Aziraphale wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, closing his eyes briefly. The sun was bright today, like it had been every day since he wandered to this part of the Earth. It was hot, too, and his clothing was by now quite light, only consisting of a loincloth -- which he didn't really need but wore anyway -- and a cape he used to guard himself from the burning rays of the sun. Feeling the sunburn on his arm stinging, he hissed softly through his teeth. He did not mind warmth in general, but this was getting rather excessive. 

"Dark skin doesn't get burned, you know," a voice said conversationally from somewhere nearby. His eyes snapped open as he recognized the voice -- he would have recognized it anywhere. And he was right. There stood the demon, only about ten feet from him, looking absolutely _annoying_. And dark, Aziraphale noticed.

For dark Crawly's skin was, not quite black but very dark brown, a colour the angel had only seen in people's eyes until then. His hair was black as always, thin braids trailing down his back, and while Aziraphale himself was lightly clad, the demon was barely clothed at all. Really, only Crawly could make a perfectly good loincloth seem almost... obscene. Although he wasn't bare, far from it; both his ankles and wrists were circled with gleaming jewellery, mostly golden bands with a few precious gems here and there. Aziraphale tried hard not to think about it, but he couldn't help but admit that the demon looked... desirable.

"Step aside, vile creature," he growled, trying to distract himself from the other's perfectly toned body with the usual wrath that almost automatically filled him whenever he saw Crawly. "I do not need your company."

"Aww, come on, angel," Crawly said, smirking mischievously. "I need somebody with something resembling intelligence to talk with. I'm bored out of my mind. If you really want to, we can always fight, but I warn you: I'm cold-blooded, and such hot weather makes me very quick and energetic." As if to prove this he suddenly leapt to Aziraphale's side. With a startle the angel realized that he could barely match the speed under normal circumstances and definitely not when he was exhausted by the heat.

Thus noticing that any battle would be already lost, the angel just sighed. "So you didn't drown after all," Aziraphale then said, glaring at the demon. "What a pity."

The demon, however, just kept smirking. "Oh, but angel, surely you didn't think the _whole_ world was covered in water?" he asked, a very self-satisfied expression on his face. "Oh, no, most of the world was actually left untouched. Just 'His land', like you probably would call it, was left under the flood. I've been living quite comfortably -- and warm and dry, mind you! -- here while you got your feet wet."

Aziraphale frowned. He had indeed thought that the whole of surviving humanity had been inside the ark. But then again... "Any humans you have here are all pagans," he said, disgusted. "I will not worry my mind about them. The only ones that matter to me are His chosen people, and the only ones of them who survived were inside the ark. I guarded them, and thus fulfilled my task during the flood."

"Yeah, sure. And what about when Noah's sons have children? And those children need spouses? They'll find the 'pagans' rather interesting then, I'm sure." The demon stretched himself, trim muscles moving definitely sinfully under the dark skin.

The thing that bothered Aziraphale most about this was that Crawly was most probably right.

* * *

Pagans they were, definitely. He had to wonder just what Crawly was doing with them; surely they didn't need any more temptation, being already about as far from God as they could get. For some reason, however, the demon seemed to enjoy the company of the humans -- and especially seducing them. Whenever Aziraphale saw yet another young woman -- and, occasionally, young man -- falling to the demon's traps, he itched to simply attack and at least try to get rid of the tempter, but he never did anything. 

The demon never seemed to sleep; most probably the heat was giving him energy, as Aziraphale knew he'd had quite a habit of sleeping in the past. He was fast, he never tired, and Aziraphale knew with a certainty that, for about the first time since the Fall, he would almost certainly lose should they fight. However, the demon never attacked, and Aziraphale definitely wasn't stupid enough to do so. Sooner or later the demon would attack, that he knew, but until then he would just enjoy the relative peace.

He had turned his skin darker -- although he never admitted, even to himself, that he was doing so because of the demon's advice -- and noticed that this indeed lessened the sunburns, even making them cease to show up at all. Seeing the definite upside of this, he kept his skin the darkish brown colour, although he never let it become even nearly as dark as the demon's. And he still kept his cape, too -- the last thing he wanted was to resemble the demon in any way.

As he watched, the humanity -- the part of it he concerned himself with, anyway -- grew. New children were born, and they grew up and, eventually, needed spouses. It happened like Crawly had said. It shouldn't have been such a surprise for him; after all, they needed wives and husbands, and it had happened even before the Flood. Still he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed as once again God's sons saw that men's daughters were beautiful, and took them for themselves as wives.

The humanity grew anyway, and it spread, and to Aziraphale's delight there were again many who believed. As they started wandering towards the North, he followed them, eager to get to even slightly less heated surroundings. It was quite relaxing to be able to simply talk with the demon every once in a while, not constantly feeling the pressure to start a battle. However, he also felt quite vulnerable in his knowledge that if and when a battle was started, he would be sure to lose. The heat gave Crawly an unfair advantage, slowing him down while it strengthened the demon, and the last thing he wanted was to give the Enemy any power over himself.

Thus he went to North, leaving behind the more sunny lands and, hopefully, Crawly.

However, he couldn't help but feel a strange twinge of disappointment as he realized that the next time they met, it would be in a battle.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Black  



	18. Black

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.**  
**

**A/N:** Oh, my. It's been quite a while, hasn't it?

**

* * *

018. Black**

* * *

The day was quite warm, Aziraphale noted as he lay on a large rock. The sun had warmed the rock so that it felt warm under his palm as he lazily ran a hand over it, but under the rest of his body, where the sun didn't reach, it was thankfully cool to touch. This didn't seem to bother the humans in the least; instead they went on with their daily chores quite happily. 

Crawly, he suspected, would have liked the warmth.

Crawly? Why was he thinking about that vile serpent? Surely he should have had better things to think about. Like how he could keep the wildest children from running straight into the nearby river and drowning. It wasn't fit of an angel to go about indulging himself in the comfortable warmth, anyway. That was Sloth, and sloth was a sin. Thus he sat up, determined to be more attentive in the future.

Still, as he kept looking over the humanity -- well, at least the part of humanity that believed; even that was now too much for him to attend to individual people -- he found more and more often his thoughts creeping back to Crawly. Things were, well, boring without him around. Even before the Flood, when their encounters had almost inevitably ended with the discorporation of one or both of them, interaction with Crawly had been... interesting. He had provided Aziraphale with a clear target, something to work against. Now he could do little but hang around and sometimes perform little miracles. True, he could make the humans' everyday life a bit easier, but he wasn't actually needed. They would have done just fine without him, apparently.

But Crawly had always been trouble, too. Without him Aziraphale would still be guarding Eden. And all those painful discorporations were definitely something to consider, too. In the hotter surroundings they had managed to hold onto something like a truce, but Aziraphale truly doubted that'd manage if they should run into each other in a climate that gave them a more equal standing.

Therefore, it was with mixed emotions as he one day spotted a snake in the grass.

It was Crawly; that much was clear. It was black, large, and unlike any natural snake he had seen around there. The fact that it slithered towards him as soon as it spotted him was also something of a clue.

"Hi, angel," Crawly said as soon as he'd regained a human-like shape. "Look, do me a favour and don't kill me just yet, okay? I quite like this corporation and don't want to lose it just yet."

"Then why did you come here?" asked Aziraphale sharply. "You should know that it is my duty not to let you do any wrong to the humans."

"Well, neither of us got discorporated back in my lands in the South, right?" Crawly asked, stretching himself. "And besides, it's our job to work against each other. Do you think there's any fun in tempting pagans? They're all my side's people to begin with. There might be more of a challenge if you were trying to convert them or something, but really, what fun is there in tempting somebody to break rules that do not exist for them?"

The demon was right, of course, and Aziraphale knew it. Just as pointless as to tempt into sin somebody who lived in sin all the time was to guard humanity against an evil that never came anywhere near them. Much as he would have liked the peace to continue, their existences were rather pointless without each other.

However, he did have concerns about the demon's apparent suggestion. "We can't just avoid killing each other," he said. "I don't know how you explained it, but I was just about able to convince Upstairs in my reports that I was unable to try to get rid of you because the heat gave you a clear advantage. Now, however, we're somewhat equal again thanks to the climate. After all our battles through the history, somebody's bound to get suspicious if we suddenly don't get discorporated anymore."

"Valid point," sighed the demon, not looking like he was going to move a single inch from the warm spot he had claimed on Aziraphale's favourite rock anytime soon. "Just give me a few days, okay? Let me get adjusted to the less hot climate. It wouldn't be fair for an angel to take advantage of the fact that my system isn't yet used to the general temperature. And don't worry, I'll warn you before I attack for the first time -- because I know damn well that, angel or not, you would only be pleased to get back at me for any tricks like breaking the truce without a warning."

It sounded like a reasonable suggestion, so Aziraphale agreed. And, although he never would have admitted it aloud, he found himself secretly hoping that the warning wouldn't come for quite some time. Not because he was afraid of Crawly and his wiles -- but because had got used to not fighting and found that it was, in fact, not exactly an unpleasant experience.

The warning did come at a time, and therefore, Aziraphale was somewhat prepared for the fight. However, perhaps his skills had been slipping over the period of peace -- it had been a few centuries, after all -- but the battle ended in his discorporation. Well, at least the end had been quick, he thought as his body bled on the ground after Crawly's claws had sliced his throat. And at least he didn't have to look at Crawly's triumphant smirk, lacking eyes as he did.

Of course, Raphael wasn't exactly pleased at his way of returning to Heaven. The first thing he heard upon his arrival was the healer's nagging.

"Just when I got to thinking that you had actually become somewhat sensible, you have to go and get yourself killed again," Raphael complained while healing his wings - those had been damaged in the battle, too. "Is it really so much fun to get discorporated? Do you think I don't have anything better to do than sew you back together every other month?"

Of course, this was exaggerated. Aziraphale hadn't been discorporated even once in quite many centuries now, due to him not fighting with Crawly. He bore the nagging calmly, though, knowing that it only meant Raphael cared for him. After all, nobody forced him to care for Aziraphale personally; he simply chose to always be the one to treat his lover's little brother. This was, Aziraphale suspected, because Raphael didn't trust anybody else to be able to heal him well enough. And, perhaps, because he enjoyed nagging at him.

"Are you quite done now?" he asked, slightly amused. "Where is Gabriel? I'd like to see him before I go to get myself a new corporation to return to Earth."

"Oh, he should arrive any minute now," replied Raphael, plucking a few loose feathers from Aziraphale's left wing. "There, good as new - and do not get it torn again anytime soon or I'll seal them inside!"

Aziraphale nodded, intent on obeying this command. He didn't know exactly how far Raphael's control over angelic bodies went, but as far as he know, nothing that was somehow connected to healing was impossible to the red-haired archangel. It was better not to risk it.

After receiving a firm command not to move for a while yet to give the wing some time to readjust and a vague promise to send Gabriel his way, Aziraphale was left alone. It wasn't long until the door was opened again, however, and somebody walked in.

"It's nice to see you again, Aziraphale, despite the circumstances," Gabriel said, smiling.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He knew his brother, knew that this was Gabriel's the voice and the face and even the smile. However, Gabriel's hair had changed. Previously wavy and golden brown, exactly like Aziraphale's own, it was now a very dark brown, almost black, falling down his back as a single silky sheet. It changed his appearance entirely, the former soft, gentle look replaced by firmness.

"What is this, Gabriel?" asked Aziraphale. "Do you no more wish there to be any resemblance between us?" There had to be a good reason for it, he knew that. While angels could modify their corporeal bodies about any way they liked to -- though most preferred to make it look like their angelic form -- altering the angelic body wasn't that easy. Most angels could change the length of their hair and that was about it. Those with enough power could make their hair straight -- all angels were brought to existence with curls -- or otherwise modify the texture of their hair. However, he had never before seen an angel change their hair colour. He doubted anybody but an archangel could do that.

"No, in Heaven's name!" exclaimed Gabriel. "It's just that..." He sighed, casting his eyes down. "It appears that with my former appearance I seemed too gentle to be taken seriously," he said. "Some angels thought they could openly go against my orders. After dealing with them I decided to make sure nobody gets that particular impression of me ever again."

Aziraphale smiled a bit. "Well, admit it, you are gentle," he teased. "That is a fine feature in an angel, especially the Angel of Mercy. But tell me, how did Raphael react to this change?" His eyes twinkled a bit as he noticed a tiny flush crawling onto Gabriel's cheeks.

"Well... Raphael didn't complain about it," Gabriel said vaguely. "And let's leave it to that. How is it that you now, after centuries of apparent peace, return here due to a discorporation?"

"The apparent peace ended," Aziraphale sighed, then proceeding to reciting the relatively recent events of his existence on Earth. Gabriel listened with obvious interest, raising an eyebrow at his description of the demon's appearance in the hottest lands. After he finished his tale, Aziraphale asked, "Well, how are things here in Heaven? Is Michael still pining hopelessly after Uriel?"

"Well, Michael is still quite attached to Uriel, yes," Gabriel replied with a small sigh. "That hasn't changed a bit. However, he has actually managed to form something of a companionship with Uriel. I don't think they are lovers in either the human way or the angelic one, not yet at least, but they are very close friends. You rarely see one without the other. Knowing how carefully Uriel used to keep everybody away, that is quite an achievement on Michael's part. Both benefit from it. Uriel does not have to feel alone, not even after Felling somebody - Michael makes sure to be there for him whenever that happens - and Michael gets to be close to the one he loves."

Aziraphale smiled. "Well, it sounds definitely better for both of them than Michael avoiding Uriel at all costs," he said. "I wonder if I could visit them before returning to Earth."

"Oh, I'm sure about it," his brother assured him. "If I recall right, they were going to spend the afternoon in Michael's apartment. Some time ago Uriel gave his sword up completely except for the times when he has to Fell someone, and Michael is training him to throw knives. Sure, he could do that well enough even before - knives were his main weapon during the First Fall - but with Michael training him, he'll soon be the best in Heaven."

"I'd like to see that," Aziraphale said, smiling. "Let's just hope Raphael allows me to move sometime this afternoon."

As it turned out, Raphael did allow Aziraphale to leave his room eventually. Therefore, he headed for Michael's apartment. After knocking on the door a few times without any kind of response he decided to simply walk inside. (Most angels would have never even considered simply walking into the apartment of one of the archangels. However, Aziraphale was not most angels.)

Like he had expected from what Gabriel had told him, Michael and Uriel were in the training hall, a large room taking up most of Michael's apartment. All kinds of weapons hung on the walls, some of them already discovered by humans, some still unknown to them. On one end stood a target, a vaguely man-shaped figure, while on the other end were the two archangels. Aziraphale stepped in exactly the same moment as a knife took its leave from Uriel's hand, flying across the room and sinking exactly where the demon's - assuming it was a demon - heart was supposedly located.

"Excellent," Michael said, sounding satisfied. "There are still some tiny adjustments you could do to put even more strength behind your throw, but - oh, hi, Aziraphale! It's been quite some time since I saw you."

"Since the Flood, I fear," Aziraphale agreed, grinning as he walked closer to his mentor. "Alas, I got discorporated. Apparently my skills had been slipping after a few centuries."

Michael's smile was immediately replaced with a firm look. "Aziraphale! I'm very disappointed," he said, only partly teasing. "Jump, turn, jump, wings out, beat, wings in, drop, and strike!" he then commanded. At least that was how Aziraphale - quite correctly - interpreted it. In the ears of most angels - meaning anybody but the most experienced warriors - it was merely a jumble of quickly uttered words of nonsense. Everybody could - and would, regardless of their rank - obey Michael's ordinary commands, but true "Michaelese" was something very few understood well enough. This made it useful in a battle and legendary among his men; it was even rumoured that nobody could ever be given the rank of a general if they couldn't understand Michaelese.

As stated before, however, Aziraphale understood - he had once been one of the highest generals, after all. Therefore he did just like he had been told. Jumping to the side, he then turned around, jumping into the air, spreading his wings and beating with them as quickly as he could, folding them again and striking upon his return onto the ground. His inexistent sword pointed exactly at Michael's heart.

"Well, well, well. Apparently you haven't lost all of your skills, then," Michael said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "What do you think, Uriel? Is he worth the name of a warrior anymore?"

Uriel raised an eyebrow. "Anybody who can make some sense of those things you call spoken commands is definitely a warrior," he said dryly. "I doubt most of the Host would have managed to understand even the first command to jump. Have you ever heard of articulation or speaking slowly enough for others to be able to hear the separate words?"

"Well, you understood it, didn't you?" Michael asked defensively. "On that note, how exactly did you understand it? Neither Gabriel nor Raphael can make heads or tails of my fastest commands."

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Uriel with a look of faint amusement on his face. "You have made incomprehensible commands an art form -literally. And, in case you didn't remember, I am the Angel of Arts."

Now, Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh, both at Uriel's unwavering calmness and the look of slightly embarrassed astonishment that now spread onto Michael's face. Perhaps those two weren't lovers, but they definitely made a fine couple indeed.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** White  



	19. White

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**019. White**

* * *

Crawly lay low in the middle of grass, his eyes following the angel intently. Aziraphale was obviously aware of him, but was yet to spot him, and didn't seem to be trying particularly much. This suited Crawly perfectly well. He didn't want to fight today. 

The sun wasn't shining very brightly that day, yet the angel seemed to be bathed in bright light. This wasn't too usual an occurrence, but he knew it meant the angel was just about to burst with holy energy. It'd go over... hopefully. If he couldn't stay hidden long enough, all that excess power would be directed at him. And that would not feel good.

Fortunately, like most demons, Crawly was good at lurking. He may not have liked it, but he was good at it. He was good enough at it that not even the angel noticed him.

Thus, he lurked.

* * *

Aziraphale spread his wings. He was practically buzzing with energy, longing for some kind of action. Crawly was nowhere to be found. These two facts may or may not have been connected to each other, he concluded. But, whether or not Crawly was hiding purposefully, standing around definitely wouldn't lure the snake out. 

Perhaps it was about the time he made a visit to Heaven that didn't involve discorporation.

* * *

Not even the greatest warriors can be fighting or training all the time. Thus, even Michael's training session had come to an end. Wiping sweat from his brow, he lowered his sword, halting the movement that had been continuous for the past couple of hours. 

"Impressive," Uriel commented from the side of the room, raising an eyebrow. "I could have never imagined you could concentrate on anything for that long."

"Oh, hush, you," Michael muttered, walking closer to his friend. "That's not even funny, you know."

"Why, I happen to think it's hilarious," the darkhaired archangel said. However, there was no true amusement in his voice.

Michael gave his friend a sharp gaze. "Uriel?" he asked. "Is something wrong?" He couldn't help but get worried. Uriel looked very serious and... odd. Yes, his expression was definitely odd. This bothered Michael more than he may have been willing to admit. He was content being friends, and close friends at that, but his love for Uriel had never disappeared. It just loomed just under the surface, often emerging in the form of overly intense worry or concern, as he dared not express it in any other way.

"No, nothing," Uriel said a bit absentmindedly. "It's just that... I've been thinking." One moment seeming a bit distant, the next Uriel was staring at him sharply, bright emerald eyes keeping him captive. "You still love me, don't you?"

This question definitely startled Michael. Still, he decided to answer truthfully. "I never stopped," he confessed quietly. "I've just come to accept the facts."

"And I'm grateful for that." A hand was placed on the warrior's arm. A friend's hand, yes -- and that was exactly what stung so badly within Michael's heart. He couldn't help but imagine that hand caressing his body, touching him in ways a friend never would, brushing his skin oh-so-lightly, just like Uriel himself was light and gentle and so very beautiful.

There was a brief silence during which neither said anything, both settling to lean against the nearest wall -- there was no seating available in the room -- deep in thought. Then, however, a voice broke that silence.

"However," Uriel said, his eyes firmly gazing at something in the distance -- whether there was anything or not, Michael did not know, but he at least saw only the sky behind the window -- "I've been thinking. And perhaps... Perhaps the decisions I've made haven't been the best possible ones."

Michael's heart leapt at those words. Not daring to hope in fear of being disappointed again, he asked simply, "Uriel?"

The other angel still didn't look at him. "Would you do me a favour, Michael?" he asked instead.

"Anything for you," Michael said, and meant it. He would have indeed done anything for his beloved Uriel. "Just tell me what to do."

"Show me," Uriel requested quietly. "Show me how that... 'loving'... works. The angelic kind."

Michael set his hand gently on the other's jaw, turning Uriel's head until he was looking directly into the fascinating emerald eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked softly.

"Yes, I am," Uriel replied. "You claim to love me, after all, and if He has made it possible, I won't abandon it without at least trying it first. I just... I just want to feel what it is like." He seemed a bit hesitant, yet there was a determination in his eyes that showed he was indeed serious about it.

Michael couldn't help it. As he looked at Uriel, the oh-so-beautiful being right there in front of him, saw the mix of hesitation and determination in the emerald eyes, he was drawn to the other by an invincible force. Before he even realized it, he had pressed his lips against Uriel's.

The kiss was soft, hesitant, and brief. As soon as the realization of what he had done dawned on Michael, he drew back, blushing fiercely. "I - I'm sorry," he stammered, extremely embarrassed. "I didn't mean - I shouldn't have -"

"Oh, hush, you," said Uriel, a faint smile on his lips. "I just asked you to do more than just kiss me, did I not?" And, to punctuate this point, he pressed a small, inexperienced kiss on Michael's lips.

Not wanting to scare Uriel off, Michael slowly led their way towards the bedroom, showering Uriel with kisses and light embraces. He could hardly believe this true. Any moment now he would wake up and see that it had been just a dream, a beautiful, painful dream that would never become true.

Then, however, they were in his bedroom, and Uriel was in his bed, and their clothes were on the floor. They were both in their basic androgynous forms, Uriel lying on his back with a half thrilled, half nervous expression on his face. Michael leant over the other angel, gently placing caresses all over the slender form. Oh, how he had waited for this, dreamed of this, hoped and wished and prayed...

And now it was true.

"It may be difficult at first to abandon your body," Michael said softly, placing a tiny kiss on the corner of Uriel's mouth. "Let me show you." And, before Uriel's attentive eyes, Michael slowly faded. There was no other word for it. His corporeal body long since abandoned, he now gave up his angelic form also, a bright light emerging from its former cage of flesh. The light, vaguely man-shaped yet lacking a definite form, slowly slid over Uriel - and into him.

Suddenly Uriel could feel Michael inside himself as the form of light enveloped him - or the other way around; perhaps it was he who was inside Michael, for it was impossible to tell. The very essence of the warrior filled him, their minds and thoughts bound together, and he could feel Michael's love for him even more clearly than before. It was overwhelming, almost frightening, and for a brief, fleeting moment he almost panicked. Then, however, he allowed himself to relax, relishing the feeling of his lover - for what else was Michael to him now? - filling him completely.

Uriel felt slightly disoriented. He also felt more, well, whole than ever before. It was like a piece of him that had been missing had been returned and he was now complete for the first time in his existence. He could feel Michael everywhere, around him, inside him, one with him all at once. Never could he have imagined that something could feel so wonderful.

No more hesitant, he let his own body slide away, finally getting completely absorbed in the light that was Michael. He could feel the other inside his mind, warm and gentle and reassuring, and he let go of his last shields, opening himself completely to the warrior.

He no more had a heart but it was still beating, beating in the same rhythm with that of Michael's, the rush of blood like thunder in his ears. The feeling of being drowned in pure delight filled his senses, and he could no more form any coherent thoughts aside from one. That one he wanted to say aloud.

"I love you, Michael," he said quietly but truthfully, lacking lips and tongue to form the words and not caring. Michael heard him anyway, knew what he was going to say before the words had even left him, and in response Uriel could feel even more love flowing to him from the other archangel.

Then it all became too much to him, and a blast of pleasure shot right through him. He could see only a white, bright light, not sure if it was the light of Michael or something else, the only sound his ears caught being his own lonely voice, repeating Michael's name over and over. Like a bolt of lightning, a wave of incredible warmth crashed through him, leaving him shivering in its wake. A moment later he could feel the same kind of sensations coming from Michael, echoing as well as strengthening his own pleasure, the other's voice calling his name even though there were no lips to utter the word.

Slowly they slid apart as their essences were again closed in their usual cages of flesh, unable to stay within each other anymore. Uriel was surprised to find himself slick with sweat, tired like after hard exercise. Turning his head a bit to look at the other angel who now lay beside him, he found Michael watching him with slightly tired blue eyes, a content smile on his face. Feeling exactly the same way as Michael seemed to do, Uriel reached out a hand, carefully tracing Michael's cheek. This caused another smile to rise on the warrior's face.

Michael, Uriel decided, looked very handsome when he smiled.

* * *

"Hello?" Aziraphale called out, peering into the large training room. "Anybody here?" 

Some time -- a couple of weeks, actually. Or maybe a month, or more. He wasn't exactly sure -- had passed since he had contemplated going to Heaven just for a visit. Now, he had finally made true of his intention.

Gabriel and Raphael had been happy to see him -- especially since this time Raphael hadn't had to scold him about getting himself discorporated. They had acted a bit strangely when he had asked them about Uriel and Michael, though. Finally he had decided to forgo prying answers from his brother and see for himself what the two were up to.

There was no warning of any kind. He just suddenly heard a voice behind himself, shouting, "Aziraphale! Jump, wings out, beat, turn, strike, beat, wings in, step back!"

Automatically he performed the moves he'd been told to do. As he finally stood in a perfect defensive stance, he grinned at Michael. "I've been training," he said, fairly proud of himself.

"So it seems." Michael smiled. "It's a pity you're no more in my forces. I'd take you over my three best current generals any day. I'd even give the fourth away as a bonus."

Aziraphale flushed. "I'm hardly that good," he muttered. "Besides, I doubt Canael and the others would be glad to hear that," he added then sternly.

"The problem with his generals," another person joined the conversation, "is that he can't make them listen to himself. With you he can always threaten to tell Gabriel if you don't listen. Of course, there might be also some fault in the fact that half of his men are usually asleep by the time he sees it fit to show up."

"Perhaps I'm not on time," Michael shot back, faking a glare at Uriel, "but at least I actually have something to be late for. And even if my generals didn't listen to me, at least I would have people who are supposed to listen to me. You can't say the same, I fear. The only thing you ever do is flying around looking pretty."

"At least I'm good at what I do!" Uriel said quickly in response. And, to Aziraphale's slight surprise, Michael simply grinned.

"That you are," the Prince of Light said. "Lucky me."

Uriel rolled his eyes. "In case you didn't figure it out yet, Aziraphale, Michael has convinced me to become his lover," he told the youngest angel. "However, he is yet to convince me that it's actually worth the trouble."

"Uriel, I'm hurt!" Michael declared. "I thought you loved me!" He gave the other archangel a hurt look.

Uriel, however, simply rolled his eyes towards the ceiling once again. "Feel free to continue thinking so if it makes you feel any better," he said dryly. However, a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

Now, Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh. "You two definitely haven't changed, I see," he said amusedly.

"Our Lord is eternal," Uriel replied with a small shrug. "As his faithful servants we have simply chosen to reflect that fact." After a moment of thinking, he added, "Or at least I have. Michael is simply stuck in his old ways."

"So, you're loyal and I am stubborn, eh?" Michael raised an eyebrow. "Somehow, I fail to see the logic in that statement."

"I thought the logic was clear," Uriel replied calmly. "You were originally one of the seraphim. Aside from your unique view of time, that has given you an allergy for personal changes. Praising Him doesn't require one to change. They -- and, thus, you -- are simply not designed to change." With a raised eyebrow, he added, "I'm fairly surprised you're able to adapt to the changing situation occurring during a battle."

"Were you a cherub, then, if you were not a seraph yourself?" Aziraphale asked curiously. "We've always wondered about that, you know."

"What I was is irrelevant," Uriel said quite calmly. "And what I am now is going to meet Gabriel and Raphael. It's been a while since we were all five gathered together." Looking over his shoulder from the doorway, he asked casually, "Are you coming?"

Michael and Aziraphale glanced at each other, grinned, and followed him.

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** Next prompt:** Colourless  



	20. Colourless

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

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**020. Colourless**

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It was not unusual to see Michael on the training field, of course. For some time it had also been fairly normal to see Uriel accompanying him, occasionally even participating in the practices. However, to see all four archangels there at the same time was truly rare. 

This, however, was now the case. Michael had taken it upon himself to inspect the fighting skills of Gabriel's forces, which explained Gabriel's presence there. Like the Messenger admitted himself, it also did him some good to get some exercise as well. He hadn't been involved in too many battles lately, after all. Uriel used his daggers with more efficiency than most angels handled a sword, and Raphael merely watched. He had never been much of a warrior, and nobody expected him to be that, either. His job was to heal, not to damage.

Michael had actually managed to convince Uriel to pick up a sword for long enough to put up a mock-fight "to show those wimps what true warriors can do". Unsurprisingly, the battle ended with Michael holding his blade against Uriel's throat, but there had been a couple of close calls for the blonde as well. Just as Michael was about to start making comments about the fight to the attentively watching angels, however, he was rather surprised to find a knife pressed against his throat.

"Lesson number one about fighting," Uriel commented casually as he got back to his feet. "Never let your guard down. Had I been a true enemy, Michael would be slain by now. Of course," he then added thoughtfully, "if I were a true enemy, I would probably have been dead before I could get a knife out. Unless I managed to appeal to his sense of mercy, of course." His eyes were cold as he eyed the now very quiet angels. "In a battle against a demon, show no mercy. Show no pity. Know that your enemy will never show either to you."

"But that is exactly what makes us different from them," Gabriel said quietly, avoiding looking at his friend. "If we show no mercy, we are no different from the demons."

"A noble opinion," Uriel admitted. "And one suitable for one such as yourself, O Angel of Mercy. Some of us, however, cannot afford such a thing." It was all too obvious to the other archangels that he was referring to himself.

The rows of angels seemed uneasy, and Michael deemed this a suitable moment to start the actual training. Starting to bark commands -- although staying clear of Michaelese -- he quickly drew the general attention from his lover. If anybody dared as much as glance at Uriel, they were quickly made to regret it as Michael interpreted it as lack of attention.

Raphael made to talk with Uriel. Before he could even reach the other's side, however, they were suddenly interrupted as a messenger flew to the place.

"Trouble, Marshall!" said the angel, seemingly deeming the message important enough to forgo the usual formalities. Michael didn't really mind either way, but anybody who called him Marshall couldn't know that. Those who knew better than to bother with the formalities also knew they could get away with calling him Michael. "We got an emergency call from an angel on Earth. There is an alarming amount of demonic activity Down There, requiring immediate attention!"

"Very well," Michael said. "Does the message say how many and how powerful demons are about?"

The angel frowned, then said, "About twenty of them, none of them more powerful than an average Virtue. It shouldn't take many warriors, but some are needed and fast. Perhaps ten of the Cherubim --"

"Or perhaps not," Michael interrupted calmly. "Uriel, Gabriel? Are you up for a bit of exercise?" As the two other archangels looked at him questioningly, he grinned. "I think it's about the time for a proper demonstration. Surely your men know how to spy on humans; they should be very well able to observe as we get rid of those demonic annoyances."

"It is not called 'spying,'" Gabriel said dryly, "but yes, they are indeed capable of that. Very well. Shall we go, then?"

"But of course." Michael asked for more accurate coordinates, then clasped hands with the two others. For a moment they wavered, then vanished entirely from sight.

* * *

"Have mercy!" whined the small demon Gabriel had just wounded. "I can't even walk anymore; how do you expect me to fight?" 

Gabriel bit his lip. Uriel's earlier words were still echoing in his mind. However, to him mercy was a basic instinct, even more so than to other angels. Thus, he immediately drew his sword further, then turned around to join the battle once more.

Suddenly he heard a quiet thud from behind himself, then a strangled moan. As he turned to look, he saw a silver dagger sticking out of the now lifeless demon's chest, the burns of holiness spreading further on the now lost demonic body. He gave a sharp gaze to Uriel. "That was unnecessary."

"Was it really?" The other archangel raised an eyebrow. "In case you wanted to know, this little rascal was just about to sink a knife into your back. That's what you get from showing mercy to demons." He pointed at the now dead demon's hand, where, true enough, lay a dagger. An unholy one, the weapon's aura told him. Even to an archangel such a thing could do bad damage.

Gabriel shivered. "I can't help it," he then said quietly. "It's in my nature."

"I know that," Uriel said with a grim smile. "Thus it is fortunate that you have me to watch your back, isn't it?" He threw another dagger. None of his knives missed its goal, but even if he had only hit an arm, for example, it wouldn't have mattered. The moment his weapons encountered demonic flesh, they spread holy energy, killing the creature within seconds, no matter how powerful it was. An archangel's aura could kill almost any demon if applied on full force. The aura of the Angel of Divine Presence was a destructive force no demon could withstand, even if it was being channelled through a thrown weapon.

Gabriel was discovering that he wasn't as much out of practice as he'd feared. He could do nowhere as well as Uriel, of course, partly because he preferred not to kill, and neither of them could even dream of being up to Michael's level. There were more like thirty or even forty of the demons than twenty, but they were proving to be no problem.

Suddenly Gabriel froze. He was sure he had seen something white flash between the demons. Clutching Uriel's arm, he demanded, "Quick. Check whether there are any other angels nearby."

Uriel raised an eyebrow, but then nodded. Connected to the Presence as he was, he could find almost any angel with some work. He didn't detect angelic auras as well as other angels did if he wasn't concentrating, though, as the feeling of Presence tended to drown them. On the other hand, he was quite a lot more efficient at detecting demons.

"A fourth angel, somewhere to that direction," he said. "As we're on Earth, it most probably is Aziraphale." His expression turned even more serious as he drew more daggers from his sleeves. "I fear he may be in need of help."

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel cried out as he rushed towards the direction Uriel had pointed to -- the same one where he had glimpsed a flash of white. "Are you there?"

The answer was slightly drowned with the noise the demons were making, but he still recognized his brother's voice. Now even more enthusiastic than before, Gabriel started to make his way towards Aziraphale.

As they reached him, the battle was pretty much coming to its end, their combined efforts having relieved most demons of their bodies. It was, like Gabriel realized upon seeing his brother, definitely not a second too early. Aziraphale seemed about to collapse, badly wounded and bruised. His face was void of any colour and his eyes slightly glazed as he looked at the two archangels.

Then he shook his head, his gaze focusing for a moment. His eyes were almost closer to grey than blue, and he was smudged with dirt and blood, but the angelic glow in him was unmistakable, having been drawn to the surface in the battle. "Apparently, we won," he said breathlessly. Then, he collapsed.

Uriel swiftly caught Aziraphale, lifting him into his arms just as Michael walked towards them, having finished off the last of the demons. Looking at his lover, he noticed to his satisfaction that all the blood on him was demonic. "Apparently, we do have one patient for Raphael," he said calmly. Michael nodded, only a momentary flicker of his eyes betraying any emotion at seeing the badly battered form of the young Principality. Setting one hand on Uriel's shoulder as the other one had no hands free, he then clutched Gabriel's hand. Gabriel in turn settled his free hand onto Uriel's shoulder -- although each of them could easily have done the journey all by themselves, it was still easier to do so together.

Soon, they were away along with Aziraphale, leaving behind the battered forms of the demons. Other angels would arrive shortly, disposing of the evidence of the battle. Their work there, however, was now finished.

"Well, at least he didn't get discorporated this time," sighed Raphael as he was presented the unmoving body of his lover's little brother. "Take him to his room and I'll see to him." Uriel nodded and started to walk towards the archangels' quarters, Gabriel and Raphael walking beside him. Michael went back to the practice field to take control of the now stray forces.

Once they had Aziraphale safely settled onto his bed, Raphael quickly examined him, then started to work on healing him. Starting on the worst wounds, he methodically moved from one injury to another, closing and mending and reshaping everything that was wrong. Gabriel watched attentively -- after all, this was his brother -- while Uriel entertained himself with examining the interior of the room. After a moment, however, Uriel stood up, announced his intentions to go to see how Michael was doing, and left the room.

After what seemed like eternity, Aziraphale finally stirred. A breath of relief escaped Gabriel's lips as he watched closely his brother's slowly opening eyes.

Aziraphale whispered something, very quietly. It was too quiet for even angelic ears to hear.

"What is it, Aziraphale?" asked Gabriel. "I didn't quite hear you." He leant closer to his brother to be better able to hear whatever it was that was being said.

"Crowley wasn't there," Aziraphale said, his voice still barely audible. "He didn't attack... he wasn't there."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment. Then he said, very quietly, "That's good."

In his mind, however, he wondered whether it really was any good at all.

Aziraphale sighed as he looked at the ceiling. Although he was now mostly recovered, he was still confined to bed, thanks to Raphael. Earth was going wild without him keeping an eye on humans, that he was sure about. Crawly -- or Crowley, like he nowadays insisted on being called -- was definitely going to use the situation on his advantage, like he always did.

Except that lately, there hadn't been any "situations". For the most part they had gone from full-blown battles to simple brawls, taunting each other even while they kept each other company. It perhaps wasn't the best way to deal with a demon, but it felt right somehow.

And besides, Crowley hadn't been one of the attacking demons.

For some reason, this greatly reassured Aziraphale.

* * *

** Next prompt:** Friends 


	21. Friends

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**

* * *

**

**021. Friends**

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Aziraphale was lonely. 

Of course, this was not exactly a unique situation. He often found himself feeling lonely, being the only angel permanently situated on Earth. Gabriel's visits were his greatest delight, bringing him both company and news from Heaven, and he also visited Heaven himself whenever he felt his duties would allow it. However, it had been a while since he'd last seen his brother, and he was lonely.

Sighing, he leant back, lying himself down on the rock he'd previously been sitting on, looking up to the sky. A couple of white clouds made slowly their way across the deep blue sky. Aziraphale couldn't help but think of the pristine white buildings of Heaven. His room there was always so peaceful, its silence only occasionally disturbed by the sounds of conversation from the rest of the apartment, reminding him that the others were close by.

Of course, Earth was fascinating. Its wonders would probably never stop amazing him, and every day he learnt something new about the world – and humanity. Humans were all around, more and more of them by every passing day, giving him something to watch and look after. There were good humans and bad humans, and humans who were neither, and also those who were both. He walked among them, sometimes invisible to them, sometimes as one of them, and looked and listened and tried to understand. As fascinating as they were, sometimes they were also hard to comprehend. Even after all these years, Aziraphale still found himself sometimes at a loss when he watched humans.

Still, he was never truly one of them. He wasn't a human, even when he looked and behaved like one of them. Whenever he ate, breathed, or even slept, he still remembered that he didn't have to, that he could just skip doing it and be just fine. The humans around him couldn't. They were different.

Their lives were so short, too. What was a lifetime – literally – to them, from birth to grave with a full set of work and family in between, was hardly more than a blink of an eye to him. He watched as years passed by, as one day turned into another, and remembered the first Days and how he then had thought them short. Even if he hadn't felt himself different, he still wouldn't have dared to try befriending a human. Their death would have come so soon, and then he would again be alone, but this time also mourning a friend.

Although Heaven couldn't always satisfy his endless curiosity like Earth could, at least there he was one of them. There he was surrounded by others just like him, their means and needs the same as his. There he didn't have to fear the death of a friend, didn't have to wonder whether he would soon find that the house he had been watching over for years had been destroyed in what seemed almost overnight to him. And thus, no matter how great was his thirst for learning more, he still occasionally longed to go back to Heaven.

Slowly, he was beginning to understand just how loneliness could have driven Uriel to such a drastic deed. Sure, he wasn't about to do such a thing, not being truly depressed – at least nowhere enough to even seriously consider ending his existence – but he could imagine how seemingly endless loneliness, the feeling of not belonging, could cause such a depression to take place in someone. On the worst days he was infinitely grateful for the Presence, which never abandoned him, and shivered in fear whenever he thought about possibly losing it – even temporarily.

The sun was creeping towards the peak of its journey over the sky, and Aziraphale wondered when Uriel had last checked that it was still working well. Of course, he hadn't noticed any irregularities, and he doubted there would be any – His creation worked just like He had intended it to work, after all – but it was, in the end, one of the archangel's duties. Or had that, among other things, also been made somebody else's responsibility? He didn't know.

An aura was approaching him, and a familiar one at that. Not bothering to look around, his eyes still fixed to the sky, he said lazily, "Go away, vile serpent." His hand was raised in a half threat, half greeting, then let down onto the smooth surface of the rock again.

"No, I won't," replied Crowley calmly, flopping down next to him. "What are you doing here all alone, angel? I could have got into so much mischief without you even noticing."

"I was just that," Aziraphale replied, "being alone." There was a moment of silence, after which he sighed. "It's just so difficult at times, you know. There are people all around us, but still, we are alone in the end, aren't we? We can interact with humans, but we don't really belong among them."

"Hmm-mm." Crowley didn't say anything for some time. Then, he said, "You're depressing, angel. Do you know what you need? You should get laid. I know this lovely young maiden who –"

"Shut up," growled Aziraphale. "I will not give into your temptations, as you very well know."

"Yes, I know," replied the demon, the smirk audible in his voice. "It's still fun to try, though."

Aziraphale sat up again, eyeing the slender form lying beside him. Crowley was attractive, that would never be questioned; after all, tempting people into sin was his sole purpose of existence. The demon was now completely relaxed, enjoying the warmth, drinking sunlight with every cell in his body. Slit pupils followed his movements from half-closed eyes.

"We should be fighting," Aziraphale said wistfully. He wasn't sure whether his tone was because they weren't fighting or because they should have been. Possibly both. "We should be mortal enemies."

"We are immortal enemies," countered Crowley. "What's the point, really? You kill me, I come back, I kill you, you come back, so on and so on. Perhaps we don't get to write down as many kills in our reports as we used to, but otherwise we both get more done. And besides, this way Raphael isn't nagging at you on every turn."

Aziraphale shot Crowley a glare. The demon was not supposed to know about Raphael's nagging tendencies. He was not supposed to in any way remind Aziraphale of the time they had both been in Heaven, together, as friends.

Of course, they were not friends now, rather just tentative allies. No, not even that; they were still firmly on opposite sides. The difference was that now, they didn't try to hurt each other as badly as possible at every given opportunity. And, like Crowley said, they did both get more work done when they didn't have to spend most of their time waiting for a new corporation.

It was still unnerving, in a way. Although Aziraphale had already lost count of the years that had passed since Crowley's last attack, he still subconsciously expected the demon to strike at any moment. Unlike Crowley, he still couldn't truly relax in the other's company. Once he had loved and trusted Carowiel as his friend, yet he had been killed by his friend – who had been an angel at the time. And if a friend could turn against him in a battle, how could he expect an enemy to simply let him be?

He was tempted, horribly tempted, to think of Crowley as a friend. He was indeed lonely, and while Crowley wasn't an angel anymore, he wasn't a human, either. Nobody else on Earth could have come even half as close to understanding how he felt. Still, he resisted. It had to be a plan, a horribly complicated plan designed to make him lower his guard before the strike.

Of course, he couldn't imagine why Crowley would wait so long just to kill him once again. Then again, he couldn't imagine why Carowiel, the one warrior who surely could have beaten him in a fair battle, had decided to attack him from behind like a coward. And thus, he didn't let his guard completely down.

Not even when the demon was – apparently – fast asleep beside him.

* * *

The door was opened, and Gabriel immediately turned to look at the one entering the room. His eyes widened as he saw Uriel. Though apparently not wounded, the other archangel seemed to be in great pain, leaning against the doorframe as though standing without its support would have been a task too enormous for him. 

"Where is Michael?" asked Uriel, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "I couldn't find him…"

"He was suddenly called off," Gabriel said, tentatively standing up. "As far as I recall, though, he was going to leave a note for you. Didn't you find it?"

"No…" Uriel shook his head tiredly. He was hugging himself as though he were cold. "When will he come back?" There was a horrible loneliness in his voice that made Gabriel's heart ache.

"He couldn't say." Slowly, Gabriel walked to his friend's side. "Uriel?" he asked quietly. "Can I do anything to help?"

For a moment Uriel looked at him as though he hadn't heard a word. Then, suddenly, the other archangel clutched onto his robes, holding on as though his existence depended on it.

"Hold me," he whispered, his voice just barely audible even to Gabriel's angelic hearing. "Just… please. I don't want to be alone…"

Gabriel did, embracing his friend while mixed emotions coursed through him. On one hand, he could feel the pain and loneliness radiating from Uriel, and it caused him to hurt as well to even think that somebody could feel so utterly alone while surrounded by the whole Host. On the other hand, though, he felt deeply honoured. Uriel was, like he had learnt over the millennia they had spent together, very reserved. He kept his feelings closely hidden, only a few chosen ones ever seeing the side of him that wasn't always calm, always in control. Even though Gabriel had previously been allowed to see his happiness and amusement, true pain was something he had only ever voluntarily shown to Michael. That Uriel allowed himself to break down so completely now meant that he trusted Gabriel immensely.

For some time Gabriel just held his friend, not saying a thing, waiting for Uriel to speak first. And, after some time, Uriel did.

As Uriel began to speak, his voice was quiet and monotonous. "An older Throne, with female appearance," he said. "She was called Oraphiel. Her sins were Greed and Pride, attempting to gather power from others and rise above her peers. She was one of Raphael's, with short red hair and grey eyes, and she had a brother who cried when she Fell. Despite not being properly trained she attempted to fight me, but my sword found its target before she could even scratch me."

The grip on Gabriel's clothes got even tighter as Uriel struggled to tell the whole story. "She screamed when she Fell, they almost always do, and her wings burned with a bright orange flame as she fell and fell and Fell… And she is a demon now, Gabriel, she is a demon and I made her that, and she will never forgive me for that like will none of those with whom she now shares fate."

"It is not your fault," Gabriel whispered in response. "You followed His orders while she chose to turn away from Him. You have nothing to regret. If she hates you for her fate, it is misguided hatred, for the only one she can truly blame is herself. You mustn't let it bother you."

"Then why must He abandon me, too?" asked Uriel. "I must have done something wrong for Him to punish me so. But what? I have always strived to fulfil His Will. I've never, not with half a thought, considered doing something that might displease Him. Yet why am I the one punished?"

"I don't think it is a punishment," said Gabriel, trying to turn into words what he had often thought. "Rather, I think it is His way to remind you of what great power you wield in His service. You are His loyal servant, and He must know that, but you also bear a power difficult for others to even imagine. In His Presence you have the means of destroying any demon that should cross your path, yet in your sword also lies the downfall of any angel, should He will so. If you did not know his pain – if you did not know how it feels to Fall – the power might have corrupted you. Is it not that He loves you so much that He will rather hurt you temporarily than let you Fall and be forever led away from His Presence?"

"Then why did He make me so weak?" questioned Uriel. "Why did He make me so that it is almost impossible for me to bear the loneliness?"

"Maybe He thus wanted to bring you out of your lonely shell," Gabriel replied. "If you could bear being alone, you would have never reached out to us others. After Carowiel Fell, you didn't let anybody in. Through your pain He showed you that none of us can survive without others."

"Perhaps…" Uriel sighed. "I can hardly even remember what it was like before… before the Fall. When there was still Carowiel, and Aziraphale was still a cherub, and we were all here. Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that time." Now, Uriel pushed back a bit, looking up at Gabriel, and the Messenger noted to his shock that the emerald eyes were veiled with tears. "But then, I wouldn't have Michael's love… Am I selfish, Gabriel? Am I selfish to think these things?"

"No, you aren't, Uriel," replied Gabriel, meaning it. "However merciless you may be, you are an angel, and as that, you are a being of love. It is not selfish to wish to be loved; it is a basic instinct for us."

"Yes…" Again, Uriel hugged himself. "Thank you, Gabriel," he said quietly. "Thank you for helping me." He tried to smile, but the smile was sad, broken, and lonely.

"There is no need to thank me, Uriel," Gabriel said. "I simply wish I could do more."

Slowly, Uriel shook his head, still smiling sadly. Then he turned around and left.

Although he did think of doing so, in the end, Gabriel didn't stop him.

* * *

**Next Prompt: **Enemies 


	22. Enemies

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.  


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**022. Enemies**

* * *

"What is it with you and indecent clothing?" Aziraphale frowned as he saw Crowley's attire. It wasn't that the demon wasn't clothed, rather that the clothing only emphatized the parts it was supposed to hide. It made him very awkward to look at. 

"Indecent? What do you mean?" Crowley grinned. "I happen to think this is perfect. And it's at least more than what I wore when we first met after the Flood, remember?"

Aziraphale remembered. And, despite himself, he blushed.

"Aw, the angel is blushing," Crowley said, laughing. "You know, we really should get drunk together some day. I bet I could get you to loosen up a bit."

"I don't want to 'loosen up a bit,'" Aziraphale replied stiffly. "Especially not with you. I've no desire to join your side due to some stupid sins committed under the influence of alcohol."

"Oh, come on, Aziraphale. It's not like mere wine will cause you to Fall." The golden eyes flickered with mirth as a forked tongue slipped out to taste the demon's lips. Aziraphale suppressed a shiver.

"Mere wine may not, but your tempting just might," he said uncomfortably. "Stop that, vile serpent. I will not fall to your temptations."

Crowley pouted. "You are boring."

"Maybe," Aziraphale replied, "but still an angel. Despite everything."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" asked Crowley then. "Shouldn't you be working? Doing all good angel-y things and such? There are hardly any humans around here."

"I should rather ask what you are doing here," Aziraphale snapped. "Last week I saw you on the other side of the world. I'm here to keep an eye on a particular situation, if you absolutely must know."

"You were on the other side of the world last week, too," Crowley said. "And what kind of a situation might that be, exactly?"

Aziraphale smirked rather un-angelically. "Try to find out."

Frowning, the demon reached out with his senses. There was something there, something he couldn't quite catch, and –

The golden snake-like eyes widened. "Oh. That's – that's an archangel, at least. Gabriel? Or Uriel?"

"Michael," replied Aziraphale. "I'm not sure what he is doing here, but I was told to keep an eye on him. His presence on Earth might draw some… undesired elements… here. Some demons might even be foolish enough to think that they can win him should they join together."

"Understandable," Crowley replied. "There aren't many demons who wouldn't gladly teach him a lesson. It might even cause –" Suddenly, his eyes got even wider. Then, he hissed, "Get your aura down, angel, if you don't want to get killed. Now."

Aziraphale frowned. "What do you –" Then he fell silent. "Oh," he said quietly after getting over his first shock. "I understand what you mean."

"As I said," Crowley said grimly, "there aren't many demons who wouldn't like to beat Michael. However, there is only one in particular who would do almost anything to do that…"

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed, his voice very quiet. "The greatest grudge against him is that of Lucifer Morningstar."

* * *

Michael was quiet as he looked into the icy blue eyes. Finally, he broke the silence, saying, "It's been a long time, Lucifer." 

"I should think so," replied the other being, smirking. "I trust you have been well."

"Very well, thank you," replied the angel, his hand constantly kept on the hilt of his sword, ready to attack at the smallest sign of threat. "In fact, I've been better than ever before. Being rid of your presence might explain that."

"You liked my presence well enough, as I recall," replied Lucifer, still smirking. "I can still remember how you used to beg for more… Do you miss that, Michael? Do you ever lie awake at night and wish I was there?"

The Morningstar was radiating temptation, his whole being focused on reminding Michael of the pleasures they'd shared in the past. However, Michael fixed his mind's eye on another image, an image of green eyes and onyx hair, and eyes full of innocent love instead of lustful desire. Ignoring the Fallen's attempt at charming him, he stood firm, his expression calm as ever.

"Of course, I forgot," Lucifer continued. "You've probably found yourself somebody else by now, haven't you? How is it, Michael? Did you find somebody who could give you the same kind of pleasure I did? Or have you taken somebody else as your slut instead?"

Now, Michael's expression turned into a grimace, something that didn't go unnoticed by his enemy. Grinning triumphantly, Lucifer went on.

"Oh, wasn't that the rumour in Heaven now? The recently Fallen are good for gossip, you know. So you managed to drag the prim and proper Uriel into your bed at last, eh? I always thought he was so full of Him he hardly even noticed anybody else. Tell me, how is he? He must be quite a nice lay. Being so used to obeying orders, he probably does whatever you ask him to, doesn't he?" 

"That," Michael said, forcing himself not to attack, "is none of your business, I believe. Though I may tell you," he then said, smirking rather unangelically, "that he is a thousand times better than you ever were."

"Is that so?" Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "One of these days I shall maybe have a try at him myself. If he is as good as you say, it'd be a waste to leave him to you."

Michael narrowed his eyes. "You will never lay a finger on Uriel," he said. "Even if you could get through me, which I very much doubt, His Presence would kill you the moment you attempted to hurt him."

"If I were you," Lucifer said, still smirking, "I wouldn't be so sure." At Michael's doubtful gaze, he seemed even more triumphant than before. "My plans have been set in motion a long time ago," he announced, "and one day, sooner than you might expect, you will lose your dear Uriel to me… forever."

Now, Michael's resolve finally broke, and he drew his sword, in full flame. However, as he made to strike the Adversary, Lucifer was already away.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" asked Aziraphale, glancing at Crowley. He was infinitely grateful the two powerful beings had been too concentrated on each other to notice their muffled auras. "How in Heaven's name does Lucifer think he could get Uriel? I know Uriel's the one angel who would be the last to Fall..." 

Crowley seemed a bit uncomfortable. "I'm wondering more about why Michael didn't attack right away," he said. "It would have been the perfect opportunity. If he'd done it, he would have probably damaged the Morningstart a lot."

"I thought you knew," Aziraphale said, confused. "They used to be lovers before the Fall. Of course Michael wouldn't be too eager to attack him. And besides, it is very probable that Lucifer would have won him, instead. The only angel who could completely defeat him is Uriel, and even that's only because of the Presence."

"But they haven't been together for millennia!" Crowley protested. "How could he still love Lucifer enough not to want to harm him?"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Aziraphale sighed. "After all, you are not an angel." He glanced at where the archangel and the Adversary had just moments before stood. "I'm worried about whatever it is Lucifer is planning, though. He didn't sound like he was just taunting Michael. It was like he truly has something in mind to trap Uriel."

"You shouldn't worry," Crowley muttered. "I know Uriel. He's so stubborn that nothing can make him go to Lucifer's side." His grim expression then turned into a tiny smirk. "So he's sleeping with Michael now, eh? Well, that's something I never expected..."

"None of us did," Aziraphale replied. "Especially after Uriel had turned him down and they avoided each other for centuries..."

Crowley's smirk got even broader. "What did I tell you? Stubborn as ever."

* * *

"Michael?" Uriel frowned as he saw his lover. "What is wrong? You look awful." 

Michael didn't say anything. Instead, Uriel found to his great surprise himself drawn into an almost desperate embrace, the warrior clinging to him as though his life depended on it.

"I met Lucifer," Michael finally muttered after a long silence. "And he… he said he would take you from me…"

Sighing, Uriel wound his fingers in the taller angel's long hair. "That's not going to happen and you know it," he said. "Neither of us is going to Fall. Lucifer will never get either of us. He just said that to taunt you."

"I know that," Michael agreed quietly. "However, even the mere thought of Lucifer getting his filthy hands at you… It made me want to die."

"Well, don't you dare die on me," Uriel said with a faint smile. "Because then, Lucifer would have won."

Michael didn't say anything. He just held on even tighter.

* * *

Next Prompt: **Lovers**


	23. Lovers

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

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**023. Lovers  
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Aziraphale smiled slightly as he listened to the song. It was so very lovely, he thought. It would be a pity if it was forgotten, which was why he was going to write it down.

This was how it should be, he thought. This was what love was really about, beauty and gentle words and, yes, making love, too. The demon could surely never understand this.

_1:2 __Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; _

_for your love is better than wine._

Raphael was asleep again, Gabriel noticed. He had no doubt exhausted himself while healing someone. When exactly would he learn that others could heal minor injuries just as well? It wasn't like he was needed for everything.

Shaking his head, Gabriel pulled a blanket over his lover. He then crouched down to place a light kiss on the Healer's lips before leaving quietly, not wanting to disturb the other's rest.

_1:6 __Don't stare at me because I am dark, _

_because the sun has scorched me. _

"Were you on Earth again?" Michael asked, glancing at Uriel. "I don't think I've seen you quite this dark ever before."

"It was necessary for my mission," Uriel replied, shrugging as he glanced down at his hand, covered with dark brown skin. "I didn't think about turning it back. Of course, if it disturbs you…"

"Oh, not at all." Michael grinned. "In fact, it looks quite good on you."

_My mother's sons were angry with me. _

_They made me keeper of the vineyards. _

_I haven't kept my own vineyard. _

Of course, Aziraphale thought, Crowley had probably never even thought of understanding it. He saw it all as stupid waste of time. Love was to him at most a tool for tempting people into more sin, just a point on the road to lust. After all, Crowley was a demon.

_1:9 __I have compared you, my love, _

_to a steed in Pharaoh's chariots. _

Quietly, not saying a word, Uriel ran a hand over Michael's muscular form. The firm muscles under the golden skin never ceased to fascinate him. Uriel himself was more slender than strongly built, while Michael was like a war horse – strong, well-muscled, and ready for battle at any time.

Running his hands over the other angel's arms, well aware that those arms could easily lift him in the air, he pressed a light kiss on Michael's lips. Then, right before the other started to kiss him back, he let his body slide away, sinking into Michael as a form of warm, golden glow.

Michael followed suit, but not quickly enough for Uriel not to notice the tiny twinge of an emotion akin to disappointment in his expression.

_1:15 __Behold, you are beautiful, my love. _

_Behold, you are beautiful. _

There were hands in his hair and lips on his cheek. The trail of tiny kisses moved steadily closer to his mouth. His own hands were crawling towards his lover's hair, eager to tangle themselves in the silky tresses.

"You are so beautiful," Gabriel sighed happily before planting a kiss right on his lips. "I love you so much, my lovely Raphael…"

"I love you too," Raphael replied quietly. "I love you more than anything."

Then he drew Gabriel close for yet another kiss.

_2:6 __His left hand is under my head. _

_His right hand embraces me. _

Uriel, as a rule, did not sleep. However, he had nothing against an occasional moment of rest. Thus he now lay peacefully, fingers lazily tracing invisible patterns on the bare back of the being he shared the bed with.

It felt secure, being wrapped in Michael's arms. One hand was under his head, more comfortable a cushion than any pillow might ever be, while one hand had reached over him, a strong arm covering his waist.

The warrior moved a bit in his sleep, drawing Uriel even closer to himself. Uriel did not protest.

It was not sleep, for he did not know sleep. However, as he slid into a dazed state close to slumbering, for once Uriel didn't worry about leaving himself vulnerable.

With Michael there, he knew, nobody would dare to hurt him.

_Let me see your face. _

_Let me hear your voice; _

_for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. _

To be entirely honest, though, Aziraphale wasn't sure he understood it completely himself, either. To feel such devotion for one being, a being other than God, anyway, was foreign to him. He had never been in love, and, he suspected, he would never be in love, either.

Aside from the countless humans he had seen being in love, his experiences of such a matter were fairly limited. There were Raphael and Gabriel, of course, who had loved each other as long as Aziraphale could remember. Their love was ideal – adoring, caring, forgiving. Nothing could drive those two apart.

Another example had been Lucifer and Michael. While the two had probably loved each other at some point, they had ceased to do so. What exactly was it that made one relationship last while another failed?

And, lastly, there were Michael and Uriel. Though they now were together, clearly loving and caring indeed, the beginning had been more than difficult. Aziraphale had watched Michael suffering for longer than he cared to remember. Even if he had got Uriel in the end, had it really been worth that? How could somebody spend a year after an endless year, a decade after a decade, forever pining for someone they could not have? Or, worse even, being close to them but never getting close enough? What kind of an emotion could drive them to such insanity?

No, Aziraphale did not understand love. Well, he understood loving well enough, it was the being in love bit that gave him difficulties. He was determined to try his best to figure it out, though.

He would know what it was like to be in love, one day, even if he never experienced it himself.

_3:1 __By night on my bed, _

_I sought him whom my soul loves. _

_I sought him, but I didn't find him._

Raphael woke up in a cold bed. Glancing around, he saw no signs of Gabriel having been there since he fell asleep. Still, he felt like he had slept long… Why wasn't Gabriel there already?

Lying in his bed, he tried to ignore the worry that was starting to raise its ugly head within him. Surely Gabriel was just busy somewhere. It wasn't like him to skip sleep like that; he'd come sooner or later… wouldn't he?

Now, Raphael was indeed worried. Gabriel had seemed so tired earlier that day; he really should rest…

Finally he decided to get up and look for his lover. Wrapping a robe around his bare body, he silently wandered out of the bedroom.

It wasn't that hard to find Gabriel, in the end. The poor thing had fallen asleep on his desk. Shaking his head in disapproval and muttering about how Gabriel really should know better than exhaust himself like that, Raphael started to gently shake him awake.

Soon they'd both be in bed like they should.

_3:6 __Who is this who comes up from the wilderness like pillars of smoke _

It had been reckless, he knew. Charging at a band of demons all alone, he'd been asking to get injured. Sure, he had beaten them all, but that didn't change the fact that Raphael was going to talk his ears off.

"Michael!" shouted a voice, and he cringed. If only Raphael's scolding was the worst thing he would have to face… "What on Earth do you think you were doing?"

Raising his head despite the fact that it was aching terribly, he saw the one angel approaching him through the curious crowd. In the middle of all the fair, blue-eyed angels this one, with his dark skin and blazing emerald eyes, was like a swan among sparrows. A dark, graceful, beautiful, and very, very angry swan with a very loud voice.

"Just what do you think subordinates are for? Audience for your idiotic stunts? Just because you _can_ take on all the demons doesn't mean you _have_ to."

By now Raphael was there too, along with a couple of other healers, all shaking their heads in disapproval. All Michael could see or hear, however, was Uriel. Uriel, who was now coolly scolding him for being so stupid, then scolding his generals for letting him go alone, then scolding both of them. During all this time he didn't show a single hint of any emotion aside from annoyance, but in his eyes Michael detected both worry and relief.

Well, now he was home, he thought. Home with Uriel.

Now, he could at last let his consciousness slip.

_4:3 __Your lips are like scarlet thread. _

_Your mouth is lovely. _

Gabriel was once again too concentrated on his paperwork to notice anything that was going on around him. Raphael smiled a bit, then set a hand on top of the paper the Messenger was currently reading. Gabriel looked up, looking surprised, his mouth opened to form a protest.

However, no voice came out. Raphael's lips on his prevented that quite efficiently.

_4:7 __You are all beautiful, my love. _

_There is no spot in you. _

It seemed that love truly made people blind, Aziraphale thought. When you were in love, it didn't matter how annoying the other person was. You were willing to forgive almost anything because of love – and you would describe even the ugliest of people as an astounding beauty if you loved them.

_Let my beloved come into his garden, _

_and taste his precious fruits. _

Uriel wound his arms around Michael's neck, pulling the warrior's head down into a kiss. The kiss was returned with equal excitement, Michael's hands wandering over his chest.

He felt the familiar tingling he had by now come to associate with the moment before Michael abandoned his body. Instead of joining him as usual, however, Uriel now looked up at his lover, seeking the azure blue gaze. "Don't," he said softly.

Confusion marked Michael's face. "What do you mean?" he asked, a hint of worry in his voice. "Is something wrong, Uriel?"

Uriel smiled. "Nothing's wrong," he replied, kissing Michael again. After a moment he released the blond warrior, still looking him intently in the eye. "It's just… I'd like to try the other kind of loving. The physical kind."

"Are you sure?" asked Michael, sounding a bit nervous. His hands, however, were getting a bit restless on Uriel's chest.

Uriel didn't say anything in response. He just let his hands wander down Michael's black, spreading his legs a bit in invitation.

Apparently this was all the encouragement Michael needed to proceed.

_5:11 __His head is like the purest gold. _

_His hair is bushy, black as a raven. _

Raphael tangled his fingers in Gabriel's hair. It was lovely, really. It wasn't like he hadn't liked the former honey-brown colour, but he liked this obsidian darkness all the same, if not even more.

It was different from Uriel's hair, he thought. Uriel's was clearly a brown colour so deep that it was black. It was soft, somehow. Gabriel's hair, however, was a shiny, bluish black colour. Most may not have noticed any difference, but Raphael did. He was sure Michael did, too.

It was all good and well, really.

_Your hair is like a flock of goats, _

_that lie along the side of Gilead. _

Uriel's hair, Michael thought, was absolutely beautiful. It may no more be long, neat tresses like before the First Fall, but the short, tangled curls were just as lovely. The shade of black was so soft and warm, nothing like the cold shine of Gabriel's hair.

He pressed his face against the obsidian curls. Uriel's hair, he noticed, smelt of jasmines.

8:3 His left hand would be under my head.

His right hand would embrace me.

It was quite warm, Gabriel noticed as he woke up. The reason for this warmth was, as he soon discovered, the fact that Raphael had snuggled up to him in his sleep.

A faint smile touched his lips as he wrapped his arms around the Healer. Soon, he was asleep again.

_8:6 __Set me as a seal on your heart, _

_as a seal on your arm; _

_for love is strong as death. _

Stupid demons. Stupid, stupid demons who caused trouble. Stupid, incredibly idiotic demons who caused trouble the very day Michael had planned to just spend time with Uriel.

Yet another fiend of Hell fell victim to his sword. Poor bastard, but it couldn't be helped. They should have known better than get in the way of his peaceful evening with his lover.

He would be done with this soon, though, he decided. Uriel was waiting for him.

Demon blood covered him from head to toe. One place, however, remained untouched. The ribbon Uriel had tied to his wrist "to remind him to come home" seemed just as clean and tidy as ever.

This was, Michael thought with a smirk as he faced yet another demon, because Uriel would kill him if he didn't return it in perfect shape. And that was because if he couldn't keep it clean he had to be in very bad trouble.

Uriel's ways of showing his caring weren't always that obvious. To Michael, however, they were more than enough.

_8:7 __Many waters can't quench love, _

_neither can floods drown it. _

_If a man would give all the wealth of his house for love, _

_he would be utterly scorned. _

Indeed, love was a strange thing, Aziraphale decided. Of course, it might only look like that because he only knew it as something to observe, not something to feel.

He didn't think the day he actually fell in love would ever come, though. Therefore, he would have to just observe.

* * *

Next Prompt: **Family**


	24. Family

**Disclaimer: I own very little.**

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**024. Family  
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"Oh, honestly," sighed Raphael, glancing around. "Just how long has been it since this room was last cleaned?"

"I can't even remember," Gabriel replied, shaking his head in a slightly hopeless amusement. "It's been centuries, I'm sure. Maybe that's a good thing, though. It means Aziraphale hasn't needed a place for recovery in quite a long time."

"But he won't even dare come for a visit if his room is in such a condition!" huffed Raphael. "Besides, he'll develop an asthma here!"

Gabriel wisely refrained from reminding his lover that angels did not, as a rule, need to breathe. Instead, he retained peace in the household by simply starting the cleaning process.

The room truly was filthy. While they were in Heaven, not everything was clean even in the Golden City, like Gabriel now came to notice much to his dismay. The few books on the shelf – Aziraphale's most treasured possessions – were in a neat row, but that was about all that was in order in the room. Everything else was scattered around, a robe here, a quill there, and random odds and ends between, over, and under them. Gabriel now started gathering these things and returning them to their proper places while Raphael opened the windows and started getting rid of all the dust.

Something hit Gabriel's elbow as he reached up to the shelf. Looking down, he saw something that made him freeze for a moment. His fingers trailed the wall to the side until he found another little object similar to the original one.

They were small hooks, seated deep within the wall, specifically made for one purpose. This was where Aziraphale had used to keep his sword. His beautiful, silvery sword, which had been admired by all the other angels for its beauty and efficiency alike…

"What is it now, Gabriel?" asked Raphael, walking up to his side. "…Oh." He wrapped his arms around Gabriel's waist. "Don't think about it, okay? He's perfectly content as he is now."

"I know." Gabriel sighed. "I just wish he'd get the respect he deserves. He was one of the greatest warriors, and now he's stuck on Earth just because he lost his sword."

"Aren't you listening to me? Aziraphale loves the Earth. He spent almost all of his time there even back when he was a Cherub. He doesn't care about respect and fame in Heaven; he's more concerned about knowledge on Earth." Raphael pressed a small kiss on Gabriel's cheek. "It's all good and well for you to be proud of your brother's skills, but it does no good to wish for the impossible. Just be glad that he is happy with his current situation."

"Yeah, I guess…" Gabriel sighed again. Then he turned around. "Well, it's no use," he said. "We'd better get on with this."

"You're right." Raphael smiled faintly, then continued the dusting process.

After quite some time, the room looked presentable once again. It smelled clean, too. Gabriel nodded in satisfaction, returned the last scroll to its proper place on the shelf, and started making the bed. He smiled as he remembered Aziraphale as a child, so small in the middle of his large bed, yawning in the middle of telling that he wasn't sleepy at all.

Suddenly, Raphael's quiet voice shook him out of his memories. "Look at what I found," the Healer said, holding up a picture of some kind. "I'd have never expected him to keep something like this."

Gabriel took the picture from his lover to take a closer look at it. It was a drawing by Uriel, obviously, being lifelike enough to make him remember the exact situation from millennia ago. Raphael and he were there, looking in exasperation as the little Aziraphale fought with the little Carowiel. It wasn't even one of their mock fights, either; they were truly fighting, trying to hurt each other. A moment later they'd again been the best friends, of course, but at the moment they had been the most bitter enemies. Michael could be seen laughing in the background. Lucifer, though, was nowhere to be seen. Gabriel wondered whether Uriel had some talent of foreseeing – this was the situation now, wasn't it?

"You're right," he said, sighing. "It is indeed quite surprising to find something like this. Even more surprising, though, is the fact that Uriel even drew something like this. He usually never drew anything that could put into question his brother's perfect reputation."

"Not even Uriel is that perfect," Raphael replied. "And even he has a sense of humour."

Taking the picture from Gabriel's hands, he settled it onto a shelf. "There. Now we are done here, don't you think?"

"I do think so," Gabriel said. "Now, let's just hope this room will actually have some occupation in the next century or two."

"Yes," sighed Raphael, "let's hope. And let's hope it is not because our poor boy has gotten himself killed once again."

At that, Gabriel couldn't help but laugh. "You know that's not going to happen," he said. "You know it very, very well."

"Yes," replied Raphael, smiling faintly. "I guess I do."

* * *

Next Prompt: **Strangers**


	25. Strangers

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

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**025. Strangers.  
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It was a sunny, warm day, just the kind Crowley liked most. Despite the energy given him by heat – unlike to true snakes, too high temperatures weren't unpleasant to him; he was used to the fires of Hell, after all – he was feeling lazy. Thus, he was currently lying on the ground, gazing up to the sky.

One of the clouds was an interesting shape, he noted. It almost looked like an angel with their wings spread. And now it was becoming larger…

It actually was an angel.

Suddenly, Crowley didn't feel even nearly so lazy anymore. Quickly standing up, he gazed warily up to the sky as the angel circled lower. Once the angel was close enough for him to see, he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known angels came in several colours – well, except for Aziraphale, of course. They were usually all pale and pure like no human could ever be. This one, however, had dark skin, only emphasized by the pristine whiteness of his robes.

He didn't recognize the angel at first, having never seen him looking quite like this before. However, the overwhelming feeling of the Presence made the angel's identity rather clear while it also forced him to take a step back, almost bending over under the pressure. He stayed firm, though, looking at the angel's changed form. Those eyes used to be blue, he remembered, deeper blue than he'd seen anywhere as they had watched him when he fell asleep. And those hands had been pale, so very pale and soft when they had tied his wounds after a rough practice, the ever-patient voice chastising him…

Shaking his head slightly, he banished such memories. That was the past. This was the present.

"…Uriel?" he asked finally. "Since when have you been that colour? Last time I saw you, you were trying to be paler than your robes… And your eyes weren't green, either."

"I fail to see how that is any of your concern," the angel replied coolly. "Step out of my way, demon, or bear the consequences."

Crowley did not step out of the way. Whether this was because he trusted the angel not to hurt him so easily or because he was still too stunned to move remained unclear. Probably the latter – he knew very well Uriel's merciless reputation. "What consequences?" he asked sharply nevertheless, never one to be put down easily. "What more damage could you cause to me? You already Severed me, after all – brother." The last word was definitely an insult, no trace of an endearment in it.

"Watch your tongue," snapped Uriel, his hand drawing closer to the hilt of his sword. It would be unnecessary, however. They both knew Uriel could destroy him with his aura alone as close to permanently as could be achieved, given his nature as a demon. "It might bring you trouble."

"I know all too well it has and will," Crowley said. "That is what you used to tell me all the time, isn't it? That my tongue would get me in trouble one day." He smirked humourlessly. "Boy, weren't you right about that. The only crime I ever committed to Fall was calling the wrong name."

"It was not only that, and you know it," Uriel replied quietly. "You defied God Himself."

"No I didn't," Crowley claimed. "Lucifer did. I just followed him. How were we to know, before the battle had been fought, which side would come out victorious? If it had been our side that was triumphant, you would have been the ones regarded as criminals, driven out of Heaven. In that big battle, if it had been Michael who fell under Lucifer's sword instead of the other way around, I would now be up in glory and you would be a mere worm, or even less! What would you be without your Presence? Nothing, that's what!"

"That is enough!" announced the archangel, now indeed drawing his sword and raising it. That dreaded sword, the one he used for Severing. Every demon hated and feared it almost as much – or, possibly, even more – than Michael's blade.

"That is true," said another voice, this one quiet yet well audible. "That is enough. Crowley, do cease your taunts. And Uriel, if you would, do not rid the world of that demon. However annoying he is, he is soothing in his incompetence. If you destroyed him, they might send somebody in his stead who actually can do something."

"Ah, Aziraphale," Uriel said, his sword lowered. Immediately his former rage seemed to have disappeared. "You are the one I was looking for."

"Wait, what are you doing?" exclaimed Crowley. "Are you going to Fell Aziraphale?"

Uriel turned to give him a cool gaze. "Of course not, foolish fiend," he replied. "I am only here to visit a friend. Well, that and to oversee the writing of the Scripture, of course. It may be written down by humans, but that doesn't mean we can't look over the things a bit, right?" The archangel turned away again. "Get out of my sight," he said. "For this once, I shall do as Aziraphale requested. The next time we meet you will not be as fortunate."

"Is this the way to treat your brother?" asked Crowley sharply. "Is this how angels respect the bonds of kinship?"

"I have no brother," Uriel replied, his voice cold as ice. "And I have no ties to any being, not in the way of kinship, at the very least. What ties I do have I have by choice."

"Geez, what warm company you are," muttered the demon. His rational thinking had been screaming at him for quite some time already, telling him to get the Hell away from there and fly for his life. However, his pride and just simple, pure bastardness had formed an alliance that easily overrode the rational thought, making him continue his insults. "At least now I know you're not only a bed warmer to Michael – he has to have somebody else just to keep him from freezing to death in your bed!"

Uriel, who now had turned completely away from him and towards Aziraphale, froze for a moment. Then, with a voice that spoke of no emotion, he said, "Leave, while you still can."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said with a warning tone. He didn't say anything else, but he didn't have to, either. The 'Get-the-Heaven-out-of-here-if-you'd-like-to-live' tone in his voice said quite enough.

Crowley spread his wings and took off, wondering which one of them had truly changed more, Uriel or he.

* * *

After Crowley had left, Uriel turned to look at Aziraphale. "Is he always like that?" he asked. "And if he is, how can you not kill him?"

"That was about the worst I've heard from him in ages," Aziraphale replied. "But then, he hardly hates me as much as he hates you."

"Indeed," muttered the archangel. His gaze wandered to the direction Crowley had disappeared to. "I truly don't know him anymore," he said quietly. "I had wished that perhaps, there was still something of my brother left within him... But I was mistaken."

"I could have told you as much," Aziraphale replied, his eyes, too, drawn after the demon. "There is no Carowiel anymore, Uriel... There is only Crowley."

"That I see," said Uriel. "And that is why I grieve."

* * *

Next Prompt: **Teammates**


	26. Teammates

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**026. Teammates**

* * *

"I demand an explanation," said the general sternly. "You acted against orders!"

"But I was following orders, sir," protested the major. "Just not ones given by you."

"Then who gave this orders, that you would take them as equal or overpowering to mine?" asked the general angrily. "The Marshall himself?"

"No, sir!" Humiel said quickly. "Just –" He swallowed. "Just a random angel assigned to Earth, sir. An angel by the name of Aziraphale."

The general frowned. "I shall see both you and him punished for this," he grumbled. "This Aziraphale, does he even have any rank in the military?"

"Not that I know of, sir." The major was beginning to look more than a bit anxious.

"Then who is he to give orders to my men? Who is he to be obeyed? I will not take this lightly!"

"Oh," said a casual voice behind them, "I think we can overcome this little... issue. It is perfectly natural for Humiel to follow orders given by Aziraphale. He did so for so long a time. Such habits are hard to get rid of, even after such a long time, don't you think?"

The general stiffened and spun around. "Marshall, sir!" he exclaimed. "I didn't notice you there!"

"I'd be rather disappointed with myself if you had," replied Michael calmly. "Now, do stop harassing Humiel. I take full responsibility of Aziraphale and his actions. I'm sure following his orders didn't change the outcome of the mission negatively, did it, Humiel?"

"But that is –" began the general, only to be silenced by a sharp gaze from his superior.

"I asked from Humiel," Michael said. "Speak, Humiel, without fear. Was following the orders of the angel Aziraphale beneficial to your mission?"

"Sir, if I may say so," Humiel started, a bit hesitant, "I do believe we would have failed our mission without his help."

"Exactly as I believed," Michael said, sounding satisfied. To the seething general he said, "You'll have to excuse Aziraphale. As a retired four feather general, it is sometimes hard for him to remember that he is not within the Heavenly Army anymore. I fear he also may have learnt my manners of commanding, due to the excessive amount of time he spent in my company as a child – Gabriel so loved taking his little brother to our meetings, after all. Humiel is not at fault if he has followed the orders of Aziraphale. Truly, even though he has no official standing within the military anymore, and thus no warrior necessarily has to obey his commands, I'll take full responsibility of whatever may come to happen should some of them do so."

"A four feather general?" echoed the stunned general disbelievingly. "And he retired?"

"Truly it is so," Michael said. "You, my dear Oriel, as I remember it, are only two feather general yourself, aren't you? But Aziraphale's curiosity was great. He would rather go to Earth to look after humans and learn all about them than remain within my forces. Whenever he visits his brother, I test his skills, and I am indeed confident he would be more than well matched for any of my current generals. It is a pity, really, that he has now given up his sword. He had a great promise, that one."

Now, the general Oriel was quite pale indeed. This was, of course, hardly a surprise. Four feather generals responded directly to Michael himself, and in military rank they were only surpassed by the archangels. There were only one or two of them at a time, and the rank was almost as easy to lose as it was hard to gain. Michael only chose the very best to carry the rank. If he still considered somebody worth it even after they had left the Heavenly Army…

"Um, please excuse me, sir," he said. "I fear I have something urgent to take care of…" And then, only barely having the patience to wait for Michael's approval, he left.

Gazing after the departing general, Michael shook his head. "The Heavenly Host truly is in trouble when I have to have such idiots as generals," he muttered. "Back in the old days the commanding officers were the first ones rushing into problems, and they took care of the trouble, too. These new guys just send out their subordinates and then scold them for succeeding…" He turned towards the slightly baffled Humiel. "Look, major, this is not a command of any kind," he said. "This is no official order, nor anything you'd necessarily want to spread around as my words. However, as a piece of advice from one soldier to another… If you get one command from Oriel and another one from Aziraphale, follow the latter any day."

"I wouldn't ever think otherwise, sir," replied Humiel, nodding seriously. "General Aziraphale quickly devised a plan that helped us dispose of the Hellhound with no casualties or much damage to the surroundings. The same cannot be said about general Oriel's plan, if you forgive me, sir."

"Aziraphale is not a general anymore, so you shouldn't call him one," Michael said with a slightly wistful tone. "I'd exchange him for any of my current ones, though."

"Nice to hear you value us that much," said a voice behind Michael after Humiel had got out of hearing range. "Have we disappointed you somehow, Michael?"

"Or are you just trying to get rid of us older cases?" added another voice. "After all, we're well aware of the fact that no, you haven't been in time to any meeting ever since the Time was Created. You'd like to have people think you've been in time at least once, so you're intent on silencing us, right?"

"Oh, be quiet," chuckled Michael at that. "Canael, Umael, the two of you if anybody should know why I would say that." He looked seriously at the two. Canael had been a four feather general longer than anybody else, and Umael had been recently promoted after his predecessor had taken too much pride – or, rather, Pride – in his position. (Uriel had cried that night.) They were the only ones left of the generals he'd had when Aziraphale had given up his position; everybody else had either been transferred to another archangel or Fallen. Canael and Umael were thus the only ones who still remembered the exact skills of Aziraphale. The others had either forgotten him or never even got to know him well enough.

They were also a part of the very small group of generals who still insisted on calling him by his first name. To others he was "sir", or "Marshall", or, Heavens help, even "Prince". He, the one who was allergic to titles! Attachment to one's position was the easiest – and, sadly, most common – way for an angel to earn a Fall. Most of all he disliked being called the Prince of Light, because the opposite of that was the Prince of Darkness and he definitely didn't want to be reminded of that.

"I wish Aziraphale could just find that stupid sword of his," sighed Canael. "I'd gladly give up one or even two feathers to allow him a position true to his skills. Being demoted to make way for Aziraphale would be a lot better than stuck working with these idiots forever."

"Now, now, Canael," Michael said mildly. "Like I'd ever demote you. You've carried your four feathers longer than some of the other generals have carried a sword. I think Aziraphale counts on that, too, and that's why he won't return. He's waiting until we are desperate enough to grant him five feathers before he's going to agree to come back."

Both Canael and Umael laughed at that. However, Michael didn't miss the slightly wishful tone of their laughter.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Parents 


	27. Parents

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**027. Parents**

* * *

Michael peered into Gabriel's office. The other archangel was there, dressed in formal attire, apparently concentrated on reading some paper. Leaning against the doorframe, Michael grinned and said, "Trouble in the brewing, eh?" 

Gabriel looked up from whatever the document was. "Why would you think that?" he asked.

"Well, for one thing, your expression," Michael said, stepping into the room. "You never look like that unless something's really disturbing you. And, making a wild guess, I suspect it's something about that paper."

"Well, yes," sighed Gabriel. "It is indeed a bit disturbing. Somebody has made a suggestion that the terms of angelic relationships should be revised, especially when it comes to siblings."

"Oh?" Michael raised an eyebrow. "So how would it work, then?"

"According to the suggested definitions, Aziraphale would be my son," Gabriel said. "It's not that I'm exactly averse to the thought, but… It just doesn't seem right, somehow."

"Why not?" Michael snatched the paper from the other archangel's hand. "Sounds rather reasonable to me, really. Because, using the human definitions, you are more like a father than a brother to him as far as I see it."

"But what about those who have more than one sibling?" asked Gabriel. "Who will be the parent, or will they be considered three different generations? And what about those who have adopted each other as siblings, and are of equal age? Besides, we are all supposed to be equals before our Lord. Humans grow old, each of them being of the youngest and oldest generation at their own time; to us angels, the inequality between parents and children would be permanent. Am I still truly a parent when Aziraphale is just as much an adult as I am?"

"Aziraphale is still young and you know it," Michael replied, returning the paper among the others on Gabriel's desk. "I don't really see what the problem is. If you don't want any troubles, it could be made voluntary, you know. Those who'd like to, would be able to change the definitions; those who don't, can stay as siblings."

"That might work," Gabriel admitted hesitantly. "But what would be the point? The old system works nicely. Why make it even more complicated?"

"Because it might work even better?" Michael suggested, grinning. "I think it would be less complicated, actually. Some more distinction between those who truly are siblings and those who are more of the parent-child couldn't hurt."

"But is it really needed?" Gabriel questioned. "And why exactly do you support this idea so eagerly? It's not like it would affect you in any way. You don't have any siblings yourself."

"That's too true," Michael admitted. "You do, however, and to me Aziraphale has always seemed more like your child than your brother. When compared with human relationships, that is."

"Perhaps." Gabriel sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is giving me a headache. I think I need some fresh air."

"That might," Michael said with some slight amusement to be detected in his voice, "be the best." Really, Gabriel took things so seriously sometimes. Too seriously, even.

In that respect, he was just like Uriel.

* * *

"What's the matter, Uriel?" asked Michael, trying to hide his shock as he stepped into his lover's quarters. (Like Gabriel and Raphael, they also shared a bedroom, but their actual apartments were still kept separate because of their very different functions.) "Did a hurrican hit here or what has happened?" 

"Nothing," sighed Uriel, glancing around in the obviously wrecked room. "Nothing really happened. I just..." He shook his head and sighed again. "Some angels," he said, "anger me to no end."

"Now, what has put you in such rage?" asked the Warrior, drawing his lover into an embrace. "Aren't you supposed to be all-forgiving?"

"When it comes to those who repent, yes," Uriel said. "However, that doesn't count for those who don't even realize the mistake they have made!" For a moment he remained in Michael's embrace. Then, however, he sighed yet again and pulled away, starting to gather the objects -- mostly artworks and art supplies -- scattered around. Wordlessly, Michael started to help him, waiting for him to talk.

"An angel Fell," Uriel said finally, determinedly avoiding looking at Michael. "He was one of yours, and a Cherub -- I've no doubt you'll get a raport soon. Anyway, he had an older brother." Now, Uriel raised his eyes at Michael. The usual depression and weariness of having Felled someone was now replaced by something close to despair. "This brother... as soon as the Cherub had Fallen, he asked how he could destroy his Fallen brother's Cherub's sword. He had no brother anymore, he said. All reminders of him must be destroyed."

"And you disagree with him because...?" enquired Michael, even though he was fairly sure he already knew the answer. He took a step closer to the other angel, just in case Uriel needed another hug.

"Because that sword is all that remains of the angel his brother was," Uriel said quietly. "He may not have a brother anymore, but he used to have one. The one he had should be mourned as dead, not forgotten entirely. Once he was an Angel of the Lord, and forgetting that is the worst possible thing to do."

Now, Michael didn't say anything. Instead, he just drew Uriel into another embrace, holding him close as he always did after a Fall. The dark-coloured archangel tried to maintain a calm facade, but at last he broke down, silent tears soaking Michael's clothes.

This was what Uriel was, Michael thought sadly. Always trying to appear calm and controlled, yet inside broken and in need of comfort. He wanted to make it better but couldn't, and thus he was only grateful he actually got to see the inside.

At least there was now one thing less to worry about. He had worried what had happened to a particular sword when its owner had Fallen, a very beautiful, very deadly sword wielded with skill only mastered by few. Now he knew what had come of it.

Somewhere, in some forgotten corner within this very same apartment, it stood patiently waiting for the hand that would never grasp it again.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Children 


	28. Children

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**028. Children**

* * *

A smirk curled the perfectly shaped lips. "They are like children, you know."

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. "Who do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"Humans," replied the demon. "They are like little children, knowing what's wrong and right but not really caring. As long as they don't get caught, it's okay."

"That's not true," Aziraphale huffed. "They might be like children, yes, but only because they constantly need advice and guidance, just like children. Depending on the influence around they might grow good or bad."

"So I'm the bad influence, I take it," Crowley smirked. "And you are the good. Too bad for you that every human since the days of Eve has always had a taste for the forbidden fruit."

"Oh, be quiet." Aziraphale lazily swatted the demon's arm. "One of these days I'll discorporate you again."

"And deal with the trouble of payback?" Crowley shot back. "I don't think so. You could always go to visit your brother, though – and let me have free hands with the humans for a few days."

"Like you could make that much of a difference," Aziraphale chuckled. "Let's face it, Crowley – no matter what we once were, now, we are small fry. My only power lies in my association with the archangels. We can do whatever we want with the humans and it still won't matter much in the end. The minor angels and demons affect a single individual's life much more than either of us does, simply because there are many of them and they have the time to concentrate on one person. All we are doing here on Earth are keeping up the façade. Whatever is done to the humans by either of our sides is done by others, we are just here for the show."

"That might be true," Crowley admitted. "But it still doesn't justify Sloth. Not that I complain, though. Do you know how many successful reports I have made consisting mostly of 'tempting an angel to Sloth'?"

"About as many as I have made about 'keeping a demon away from his evil deeds,'" snorted the angel. "We can always go back to the fighting if you'd like to, though. I'm getting quite out of practice. No doubt will Michael kill me the next time I see him."

"He will only beat you," Crowley said, waving a hand dismissively. "Me, he would indeed kill. I've no intention of getting in his way, though, so that's not going to happen." With a smirk, he continued, "One of these days, angel, I'll have to tempt you into drinking. I have a feeling we could have splendid drunken conversations."

A tiny smile on his lips, Aziraphale closed his eyes and lay back on the grass. "Do not tempt me, vile serpent."

* * *

Michael was slightly nervous as he settled a hand on a door handle. Not that this was a very unusual action for him; he opened and closed doors several times a day, after all. This one door, however, was special.

He had quite some time noticed that there was one room in Uriel's apartment that was never in use. The door was kept closed all the time, and Uriel refused to even acknowledge its existence. His curiosity growing greater every day, Michael became even more and more intrigued by the room. There was a room in the same place in his own apartment's mirrored layout, used for extra storage for the weapons he couldn't fit elsewhere.

The day he realized just what it was used for in Gabriel's apartment, however, his curiosity overcame his willpower.

Why would Uriel close off the room that, in Gabriel's layout, served as Aziraphale's room?

Michael glanced around. The room was flawlessly clean, not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. He wasn't sure whether it was because Uriel cleaned there often or because dust simply didn't dare land where the archangel didn't want it to.

The bed was perfectly made, nothing revealing that it hadn't been used in millennia. Its occupant could have just as well risen from it that very morning.

The walls of the room were pristinely white, here and there a drawing or a painting bringing colour to it – all Uriel's making, of course. On one wall, though, colourful stains of paint disturbed the otherwise perfect order and cleanliness of the walls. Curious, Michael took a couple of steps nearer.

"They were mere kids back then," said a voice behind him, startling him. Cursing himself for forgetting to be on guard, even if he was presumably safe in Heaven and Uriel's apartment, Michael spun around. In the doorway stood Uriel, looking rather sad.

"I – I'm sorry," Michael stuttered, suddenly feeling very ashamed for giving in to his curiosity. "I know I should have asked you rather than come here without permission. Please forgive me..."

Uriel, however, didn't seem to even hear his words. "They wanted to paint, and I let them. Only they soon noticed that the walls made a lot better surface for their art than any paper or canvas." He walked to Michael's side, his hand hovering over the stains on the wall, never touching. "I let it be because Carowiel liked it... He never let me wash it away. I thought he would eventually get tired of the mess, but he left before the stains."

"So this is how you remember him?" asked Michael quietly. "This is how you remember Carowiel? Your brother who died?"

"Yes, this is exactly it." Uriel smiled sadly. "Sometimes, when I felt lonely enough, I would hear sounds from in here. I don't know if I was truly going insane or what, but..." Sighing, he shook his head. "I try not to come here, yet I always found myself being drawn back again and again."

Michael glanced to the opposite wall. There, over the bed, rested a beautiful sword adorned by a single bright emerald. Even from where he stood he could see that the blade was still perfectly sharp.

He remembered holding it one day, picking it up from the ground and handing it back to its rightful owner. The embarrassed look of defeat on the young angel's face, the snickers of the others by the sides of the field, later to be replaced by respectful silence as Michael's victories became more and more difficult every time. Many had come close, but none as close as that one warrior, one hand, one blade.

Only one blade had ever met Michael's in a fight more worthy than this one, and it had Fallen along with its brightly beautiful owner.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Birth 


	29. Birth

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**029. Birth**

* * *

The news had reached Aziraphale, too, of course. Gabriel had personally come to tell him after he had informed those directly involved. Sometimes it was quite useful, being the little brother of the Heavenly Messenger.

Now, there were quite a few more angels on Earth than there usually were. Wherever Aziraphale looked, there was an angel. And they weren't the usual low-rank angels, either, those who flocked around humans all the time to guard and protect and whatnot. He was certain he had seen even a Cherub or two around.

The closer the day came, the more angels there were around. Crowley had gone into hiding, not wanting to attract any attention from the divine beings gathering close.

And then, one day, they were all gone. Recalled to Heaven, Aziraphale had heard from a Throne hurrying to leave. There was a task for them, he'd heard. As he himself hadn't got any orders, however, he remained on Earth.

As night fell, he could feel that something was different. Something, he felt, had changed...

And then, it was there. The unmistakable touch of Presence, spreading far from its original source. Drawn by the intense feeling, he hurried to see it for himself.

There were angels there, was the first thing he noticed. A few Seraphim, along with some of Michael's warriors, all gathered around a small, shabby stable. And in the stable was a man and a woman, and a child in a manger, asleep on the hay. Beside the manger sat Uriel, his wings spread to guard the child, a look of infinite wonder and amazement lighting up his dark face.

"He is here at last," whispered Uriel in angel's language, unheard by any but himself and Aziraphale. And the child, Aziraphale suspected, for however small and newborn He was, His baby-blue eyes still glanced about with curiosity and wonder, fixing on the faces of each of the angels as surely as on those of His parents.

"I see that," Aziraphale replied quietly. Kneeling down on the other side of the manger, he reached out a hand, invisible to humans, to brush against the little cheek. "To think that Our Lord would come to flesh..."

"It is unbelievable," Uriel admitted. "However, He still has done it to bring salvation to humans." There was joy in his voice unlike anything Aziraphale had ever heard coming from him. Well, that was probably only natural. After all, he was the Angel of Salvation among other things.

"Where is everybody else?" asked Aziraphale after a moment of silence. "They were recalled to Heaven just yesterday, saying they had a task to fulfil..."

"Go look out in the fields," Uriel advised, his eyes never leaving the child's little face. "Michael should be there, and Gabriel."

Aziraphale took another glance at the child, then at the amazed archangel. Then he turned around and left.

The soldiers stood in guard, glancing at him as he stepped out of the stable. One of them recognized him, responding to his nod of greeting with a silent salute. Over them, unheard by any humans but filling Aziraphale's heart with wondrous joy, sang the Seraphim praise.

Michael was indeed on the field, it turned out. As invisible to humans as Aziraphale was, he stood there as though waiting for something, his gaze following a small group of shepherds keeping watch over their flock. "Good evening, Aziraphale," he said quietly.

"The best of all," replied Aziraphale. "What are we waiting for?"

"Gabriel," replied Michael. "He should be here any moment now – ah, yes, there he is."

It was rare that Aziraphale actually got to witness Gabriel doing his work. All the beholds and such were indeed quite impressive. Once his brother was done, however, Aziraphale discovered just what had demanded the presence of all the angels. If it wasn't the whole Host of Heaven in that gathered group, at least most of them were indeed present.

"Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will toward men," echoed both Michael and Aziraphale after the heavenly choir. The other angels then left, Gabriel with them, but Michael remained.

"Uriel seemed quite enchanted about the Child," Aziraphale remarked as they lazily began to fly towards the town while the shepherds were still trying to come to an agreement about the best course of action. "And why wouldn't he? A third of His Presence taken away from him and enclosed in a mortal body should definitely draw him near, even if it is only to gain back the feeling of full Presence. I have a feeling you won't see much of him in the years to come."

"Possibly not," replied Michael with a note of sadness in his voice. "That doesn't matter, though. It is what makes him happy. It's not just regaining the feeling of the part he has lost – according to him, it feels even more intense within the Child."

Aziraphale nodded. He may not have fully understood, but he thought he got the general idea.

As they got closer to the stable, their ears caught the voices of the Seraphim. They had now switched from general praise to actual songs and hymns, it seemed.

_"There He is, the Son of Man,_

_Of the Virgin born._

_How such gracious deity can_

_Go to world so torn?_

_We've with our own eyes it seen_

_How the Word fulfilled has been_

_How the prophecies came true --_

_Bow stars, the Sun and the Moon!_

_Above angels all sing praise._

_From the East the star shall bring_

_Wise men of the lands._

_Let the babes and the old sing_

_Praise to God so grand._

_For the sins of all He is_

_Brought down low by will of His._

_Son of God now Man will be_

_So that Men can all be free._

_Above angels all sing praise._

_Bow down, forget all their might_

_Angel lords most high._

_Now the Mother can in night_

_Sing her lullaby._

_Purest, whitest wings are spread_

_O'er His lowly manger bed._

_Angel voice the Mother's meets_

_In a lullaby so sweet._

_Above angels all sing praise."_

"Nice enough," Aziraphale said, shrugging a bit. "Too bad Uriel obviously didn't write it."

"And how would you know?" asked Michael, lifting an eyebrow. "Why couldn't it be his?"

"Uriel would never talk about highest angel lords and purest wings when it's himself in question," replied the young ex-Cherub. "Angels are perhaps all humble, but he is most so."

"Not most so, but enough, definitely," Michael chuckled. "You are right, though. For some time now Uriel has been in no state of mind to write any songs. It took all of my efforts combined with Gabriel's and Raphael's to keep him from following the Virgin around even before the birth."

"Well, at least this child will not lack in guardian angels," Aziraphale said softly as they together once again made their way into the dim warmth of the stable, smelling of hay and animals and Divine Grace. "Though I doubt he will need any."

Michael didn't reply. He was already watching the child.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Death 


	30. Death

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**030. Death**

* * *

Thirty-three years, Aziraphale thought. Thirty-three years, not a full life even for a human, and how it had to come to its end.

He looked up to the hill, the three pitiful figures hanging there, and felt vaguely sick.

This was wrong, he felt. This shouldn't happen. Ineffable or not, this was wrong, this couldn't be according to the Plan, something had been misunderstood and there had been a mistake and this couldn't happen...

"Angel?" asked a quiet voice behind him. Without turning around he knew it was Crowley.

"What are you doing here?" he asked stiffly. He really didn't want to see the demon right now. "Gloating over your side's victory? If so, leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you at the moment."

"I'm not here to gloat," muttered Crowley. "Look, I'm feeling horrible too, okay? You may suffer because your precious Son of Man is hanging there, but it's not any easier on me. His suffering there, it's all Divine. I feel like throwing up."

"Nice to know I'm not the only one miserable here," Aziraphale said dryly, but he couldn't summon quite the usual venom into his words. He simply felt too bad right now. Sighing, he leant against a wall. "He is dying. He is dying, and the humans make His death a cause of celebration."

"I know." Crowley was silent for a moment. Then, he said quietly, "I didn't call for Barabbas." The demon swallowed, then continued, "I couldn't call for Him, that'd have cost me more than my head – but I didn't call for Barabbas, either. This is all just sick, all of this."

"I guess that's something of a comfort," Aziraphale sighed. "Too bad the humans didn't do as you did." Glancing again up to the hill, he said quietly, "I wonder how long He will still stand this pain..."

"Not much longer, I think," Crowley muttered darkly. "However much He may be the Son of God, He is still in a mortal body, and that has its limits. Sooner or later He will have to give up the fight."

"Yes," Aziraphale sighed, "I do fear so."

It had been dark for quite some time, for almost three hours now. It made the even otherwise uncomfortable situation even more agonizing. Ignoring the humans hurrying about, the angel and the demon stood side by side, both their eyes following the scene on the hill even as they talked quietly with each other.

Suddenly, Crowley said, "Something is happening."

As though following some hidden cue in his words, a loud cry came from up the hill, too quiet for any human ears to catch it properly from so far away but definitely audible enough for their supernatural hearing. And, following this cry, an enormous wave of Divinity washed over them, knocking them both down with its intensity. The earth began to shake, rocks splitting and walls breaking in the grasp of the enormous forces.

"I wonder what Uriel is thinking," muttered Aziraphale before he realized there was nobody listening to his words anymore. Crowley lay on the ground, knocked unconscious by the power of the Divinity.

* * *

"How is he?" asked Michael quietly.

"A bit better," sighed Raphael. "The sudden imbalance just caused him to collapse. For a moment he managed to compensate for it by channelling his own power – I'm sure you didn't manage to miss the earthquake and other little details – but then it became too much for him." He shook his head. "Even I notice that the Presence feels weaker."

"It's not only that it's weaker," Michael said darkly. "It is that a part of it has now been taken by Him to death. We only notice its absence – Uriel still senses the missing part, but he also senses the burden of Death on it."

"You may be right." Raphael seemed quite sad. "Go and see him now. He's conscious again and asking for you."

Michael didn't need to be told twice. Quickly he made his way past the Healer and into the room where his lover was resting. Seeing Uriel's miserable expression, he didn't hesitate for a moment before stepping to the bed's side and drawing the other into a warm embrace.

He couldn't even imagine how Uriel must have felt. Even he felt ill in a way he had never experienced before. To Uriel, the feeling of illness – of sheer wrongness – must have been even more intense.

Uriel didn't day anything, just clutched onto him. Michael held him close, also wordless.

He wouldn't have known what to say, anyway.

* * *

"You feeling any better?" Aziraphale asked gently.

"Somewhat," Crowley sighed. "Not too good, though. It's a wonder I didn't get discorporated right away." He pouted. "I guess I should thank you for getting me out of there," he said. "I won't, though. It'd ruin my reputation."

"I understand completely," Aziraphale replied calmly. "However, I couldn't just leave you there to die, however much of an enemy you are. It wouldn't be angelic." He tried to hide the sweat drops beginning to form on his forehead. He couldn't be feeling as bad as Crowley, so he had no right to complain.

"Apparently Uriel still hasn't got you with his lectures of no mercy," muttered Crowley. "Besides – hey, wait a minute. How are you doing?" The golden eyes were sharp on him, noting the little signs of not-wellbeing.

"I'm okay," muttered Aziraphale. "It's just... Some of the Presence disappeared along with Him. And like that wasn't enough, it hurt Uriel so much he lost consciousness, which also slightly affects the Presence. I very much doubt any angel is feeling very great at the moment."

"You realize Hell's going to rejoice for ages now," sighed Crowley. "Your Saviour is dead, one of the archangels is out of the game and all angels are weakened. You'll be fortunate if they don't outright attack Heaven."

"They wouldn't be so stupid," Aziraphale replied. "And besides, there is no time for an organized attack. We only have to wait until the third morning."

"Are you sure?" asked the demon slyly – well, at least as slyly as somebody in his state could, bedridden and exhausted though quick on the way of recovery. "What if your dear Plan is flawed?"

"It hasn't been this far," the angel shot back. "And if we don't have faith, then who will?"

To this, Crowley found no response.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Sunrise 


	31. Sunrise

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**031. Sunrise  
**

* * *

Gabriel was late.

This was definitely unusual, Aziraphale thought. Gabriel was usually right on time. But now, this was even more important than any other appointment ever. He could not miss this!

They were walking closer; he could already see them. And there were still guards and sight of neither Gabriel nor the Sun... Where was Gabriel? He had to hurry!

Ah, well, it appeared there was no other way to deal with this than a direct approach. And that meant taking care of things himself. He'd deal with any possible bureaucratic problems later, now there was no time to think. Some things just needed to be done; by whom was irrelevant.

Okay. If he only could remember what Gabriel had taught him about miracles back in Heaven... Small, everyday miracles he could manage just fine, but the more impressive things were beyond him. He was a warrior, not a miracler. Michael didn't believe in showing off, just pure skill – complicated tricks might mean your defeat in battle.

Well, hopefully he could manage it well enough. Undoubtedly Gabriel's entrance would have been even more impressive, but...

At least his little earth quake indeed stunned the soldiers guarding the grave. Making sure his robe was even more pristinely white than usually, he rolled the stone away, concentrating on keeping his appearance as awe-worthy and intimidating as possible.

The women seemed scared. Oh, no, that wouldn't do. "Be not afraid," he said, wishing he'd had even a fragment of Gabriel's language skills. The archangel could literally talk birds out of the trees (although only Israfel and Uriel had been reported to manage that by singing). He could, at best, be rather reassuring. "If you're looking for Jesus, he is not here. He has risen just like he said. Go and tell the others so that they'll know, too."

The women appeared delighted at this, which was, of course, hardly surprising. They hurried away to spread the great news, leaving Aziraphale gazing behind them, smiling.

The Sun came to sight, and so did Gabriel. "I see you took care of it quite admirably," he said with a smile. "That earth quake was a nice touch. It gave your words some weight."

"You must be kidding," Aziraphale huffed. "I spoiled it almost completely! Without that earth quake they wouldn't have believed me to be an angel at all! I sounded like just another human. I just can't do those 'lo's and 'behold's of yours."

"You don't have to, really," Gabriel said, placing a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Afterwards they'll remember you as a magnificent creature with the most impressive manners of speech. Your actual words will never be remembered, the message is so much more important. And when it is written down one day, nobody will dare to use anything but magnificent words."

"I guess you might be right," Aziraphale said, smiling. Walking into the tomb, he sat down where the Lord's feet had lain some time earlier. "At least I got the job done despite you being late. That is absolutely unforgivable, you know!"

"Why so? You managed just well with it," Gabriel replied. "I had no doubt in mind you'd do well. I was delayed because I had to see to Uriel just before I left, but I hoped you'd be here in time. And, just like I thought, you were. So what is the problem?"

Aziraphale just glared at the archangel, who also took a seat. After a moment, Aziraphale asked, "So, how is Uriel? I doubt he's been too well since the Day..."

"Uriel has been… not exactly sleeping," Gabriel said. "He's been in some kind of a slumber. According to Michael, that way he gets even closer to Presence than usually. We decided not to disturb him in hopes it will help him feel better."

"I do hope so," sighed Aziraphale. He then smiled. "But he should get better now, shouldn't he?"

"Oh, yes," Gabriel said happily. "He definitely should do so."

They smiled at each other. It was easy to smile, feeling so good.

Their Lord had triumphed over Death, after all.

* * *

Michael reached out a hand to wipe a lock of hair from Uriel's face. Although he would have never admitted it to anyone, he was worried. Many a time had he seen Uriel resting like this -- and every time, he was worried, worried that Uriel would rather stay in his dreams than awaken. After all, the world of waking was not as strong in Presence as Uriel's peaceful rest. 

Just as he was about to again wipe aside the lock that stubbornly kept clinging to his dear Uriel's face, returning soon after being removed no matter how many times he did it, Uriel stirred. Emerald eyes opened slowly, a smile spreading onto the dark face as they met Michael's gaze.

"He has won," Uriel said, the delight evident in his voice. "He has won, and Death has lost, and even the Sun sances with joy this morning."

"That is true," Michael agreed, relief bringing a smile to his face. "And you are well again, too."

"That I am." Uriel's smile faded away. "I'm sorry, Michael. I have been neglecting you ever since He was born -- you, Raphael and Gabriel, my duties, everything. And these last few days I have worried you needlessly."

"No apologies necessary, Uriel," Michael said softly. "You can't help your nature. You were simply created to be that way."

"Michael is right," said Raphael from the doorway. "None of us blames you for staying close to Him these past years. We were tempted to do so ourselves, after all, and your desire to be close to His Presence would naturally be even stronger."

"That is no excuse," Uriel protested. "It is in demons' nature to hurt and destroy, but that doesn't make it any more acceptable. Then why should you excuse my wrongdoings?"

"Because you have done nothing wrong," replied Michael. "You did what every angel would have done, had they been able to. You still fulfilled your duties -- or was there even one order you did not see to its completion? We did not feel neglected -- did you not visit us all the time? Compared with the millennia you have spent mostly in Heaven, I, at least, was delighted to see you on Earth for a chance. There is much to be learnt there. I regret not being able to spend more time there myself."

"You seem quite well," Raphael then observed, not giving Uriel any time for protesting. "As it is so, I see no reason why you should still stay in bed, should you feel up to getting back on your feet. The whole Heaven is celebrating and I see no reason why you should not be doing the same."

"Did the word get to the disciples, at least?" asked Uriel as he indeed stood up, Michael hovering protectively about. "That He has truly risen and not been stolen away?"

"Oh, yes." Raphael smiled. "Gabriel was a bit delayed, but fortunately Aziraphale was there to deliver the message. You need not worry, Uriel -- just be happy on this wonderful day."

And, somehow, Uriel simply couldn't stop a smile from rising to his face again.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Sunset 


	32. Sunset

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**032. Sunset  
**

* * *

Aziraphale had a feeling something was going to go wrong.

He could just feel it. He couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was, but somehow, something was wrong...

As the day began to draw towards noon, he got even more edgy. His instincts were telling him that he should be wary, ready for something, but ready for what? Crowley hadn't caused much trouble lately, and although it might be possible that he was just lulling Aziraphale into a sense of false security before striking, the angel doubted that. The demon was just as tired of pointless fighting as he was, nowadays mostly contenting himself with -- futilely -- trying to tempt Aziraphale into various sins, especially drinking and preferably with him.

However much he told his senses to shut up and let him be, though, they still kept bugging him. Something, something was wrong...

When he realized what it was it was already too late.

It must have been that tempting he'd thwarted, he thought as he broke the first demon's neck with a quick kick to the head. A mid-class demon who had definitely not been Crowley had been tempting a lord to steal his servant's wife as his own. Aziraphale had put an end to this, but the demon had promised to have revenge. Apparently he had decided to deliver it through his friends.

There was a notable absence of Crowley in the group that was attacking him. Aziraphale was vaguely happy about this, and quite a lot less surprised than he probably should have been.

Then he stopped thinking as even more demons rushed into sight, all ready to attack him. Letting his instincts take over, thanking Heaven that even out of shape he was skilled enough to beat most demons, he listened to the little voice in the back of his head sounding like Gabriel and speaking Michaelese.

'Jump, kick, turn, land, duck, hit, spin, kick, jump, wingbeat, fold and...'

The demons didn't seem to be ending any time soon...

* * *

Gabriel was very silent as he headed down to Earth. The news he had received had not been the best ones. An angel had offered to do the task for him, but he had refused. Often he had been too busy to bring Aziraphale home, but this time he would do it.

This time was different than usual, in many ways. One was the fact that Gabriel was indeed himself the one fetching his little brother -- or, depending on who you asked, his son. Another thing that made this different was that it had been a group of demons attacking Aziraphale instead of the usual sole rascal, Crowley.

Yet another thing was that this time, Michael's men hadn't made it to the battle field before the battle had been over.

They didn't know why the message hadn't got through in time. Michael blamed himself, although Gabriel knew that was definitely futile; Michael was the best in his job and should have known it. Somewhere, there had been a mistake made, and due to this Aziraphale hadn't received any help before he had been defeated. Crowley, he could handle alone -- and even if he couldn't, he would never accept help. But several demons at once were a quite different thing.

Nevertheless, the help hadn't made it in time.

A sword ready by his side, he now walked over the fallen bodies of demons. One had cracked his skull on a stone, another's neck had apparently been broken. Never let it be said that a student of Michael's couldn't fight effectively even unarmed.

In the middle of it all, he found Aziraphale's body. It was horrible to look at, slashed and mangled and torn in unimaginable ways. Obviously the demons hadn't thought it enough to just discorporate him; they had wanted him to suffer, too.

Very, very carefully, Gabriel knelt down to gather the tiny sphere of energy that was now Aziraphale's essence. Holding it on his palm, he got ready to return to Heaven. However, movement on the side of the battle field caught his eye. A second later his senses found a demonic aura there.

"What now, demon?" snapped Gabriel, drawing his sword. "Have you come to look for more angel prey? I warn you, I am not an easy opponent!" As Crowley stepped forward, his eyes narrowed further. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah, it's me," Crowley replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why so? Were you expecting somebody else?" He kicked the nearest -- already rotting -- demon corpse and said, "Look, I don't want to fight. It'd be just a waste of both of ours time, and probably I wouldn't be the only one hurt, either. You know I'm fairly good with a sword." To punctuate his words, he picked up a demonic sword from the ground and held it up. "For your information, I just found out about this attack. I came here to help the angel, but was seemingly too late."

"A demon? Help an angel?" the Messenger spat. "Do not joke with me, demon. You will not inflict any further harm on Aziraphale, not as long as I still stand!" He now raised his sword in a threat.

Crowley, however, sighed in exasperation. "I already said I want no fight, and definitely not any harm on your dear brother," he said irritably. "Just take him Up There and fucking make sure he heals, got it?"

For a moment Gabriel just watched him. Then he slowly sheathed his sword, his other hand still held close to his chest. He then extended that hand a bit, a glowing light resting on the open palm, lighting up the scene as darkness started to fall, the only illumination besides the setting sun being the angel and Aziraphale's soul. "Rest assured that he will be healed," he said, his tone still cool but not exactly as hostile as earlier. He again brought the essence of his brother close to his heart and, without a sound, was away.

For a moment Crowley stood there, still staring at where the archangel had stood. Then he glanced around at the fallen demons, their bodies now coloured even more red by the setting sun.

A slight smirk rose onto his lips. A principality with no sword, and Aziraphale still could take down so many enemies. It was truly impressive -- but not surprising.

Then the only standing demon turned around and left the battle field invisible to human eyes, the sun low behind his back drawing a long shadow from him to the road before him. And somewhere, inside what might have been his heart had he agreed to call it that, he held an archangel's promise.

'He will be healed.'

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Too Much  



	33. Too Much

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

**A/N:** 7 updates in 24 hours. Aren't you so proud of me?**  
**

* * *

**033. Too Much  
**

* * *

Aziraphale slowly gained knowing of his surroundings. He now could tell that he was in his old room in Gabriel and Raphael's joined quarters. He still couldn't say anything, not having a body, but he managed to make out hazy figures and hear the voices of others. Little by little his sight returned, too, until his senses were just like they would have been had he still resided within his body. 

Raphael couldn't do much for him before he had at least started regaining his body, but the archangels all visited him every now and then, keeping him company. Gabriel often even carried him along wherever he went, allowing him to see the Heaven and its inhabitants. Michael sometimes took him to watch the warriors' practices, much to his delight -- he had truly missed seeing it, even though he would have never admitted that to anyone.

Raphael didn't take him anywhere, just talked to him about everything and anything that came to his mind whenever he had the time. And Uriel -- well, Uriel just was there, like he had always been, not saying anything, not needing to say. Even though there was no vocal communication passing between them to either direction, it was Uriel who first realized that it made Aziraphale feel better if the angels around kept their halos visible. After all, Aziraphale himself was little but just essence at the moment and rather vulnerable as that; he felt much more at ease when others showed their essence as well.

And thus Uriel was now standing there, in his room, gazing out of the window to the Golden City. His aura, larger than that of any other angel Aziraphale knew, was bright and warm, comforting the younger angel in its steady, sure existence. It fascinated him that this person, this aura, was what kept together the connections to Presence for all of the almost infinite number of angels. Sometimes he wondered how Uriel didn't crack under all the pressure. It couldn't be easy, after all.

But no, Uriel was always calm and collected, always in control of the situation. He was very stern and sharp, never opening up to anybody but his closest friends, but every single angel respected him for his constant control. Aziraphale had seen him let go of his mask of absolute indifference, and he knew that Uriel was in the inside a warm, caring person who simply didn't show that part of himself to just anybody.

He sensed another aura in the room, and turned his bodiless sight to the direction of the doorway. It wasn't much of a surprise to see Michael standing there. The Warrior had also turned his aura visible, not as large as Uriel's -- how could it be? He wasn't the Angel of Presence, after all -- but just as comforting.

Michael crossed the room to Uriel's side. Although he kept his gaze on Aziraphale, he still managed to wrap an arm around the dark archangel's waist, pressing a kiss on the black curls. Uriel smiled silently, his eyes still looking outside.

Suddenly, however, Michael frowned. "Uriel?" he asked. "What is wrong with your aura? It seems -- it seems as though there is an opening of sorts on it."

"That might be because there is one," Uriel replied calmly. Finally turning around to face the room and its other occupants, he sighed. "Back in the First Fall... I had to Fell Carowiel, too. However, I couldn't bear the thought of him losing the Presence forever... And so, I gave him a bit of my own aura." A wry smile curled his lips. "Nobody ever thought to ask just why my eyes turned green. That is because of the loss of Presence in me. Just as well I could have turned a part of my wings black. Fortunately it was my eyes and not wings that chose to change -- something like that could have caused quite a commotion."

"But... but you are leaving yourself bare to enemies!" Michael exclaimed, shocked. "And you have had this opening, what? Since before the Creation?"

"Yes, I have. And as nothing has happened yet, I should think it is not that much of a risk. Not everything is about enemies and battles and fighting, Michael." Uriel lowered his gaze for a moment only to return it to Michael's face. "Sometimes, it's just about how much you care."

"But Uriel, what if this somehow manages to hurt you?" asked Michael. His expression was a mix of worry, seriousness, and fear. "I must tell Raphael -- surely he can fix it. You may have survived it for millennia, but that doesn't mean it won't get you hurt in the future! Your aura is your only protection against infernal powers!"

Uriel, however, simply gazed seriously at Michael. Taking a step away from the taller angel, he said quite calmly, "No, Michael. You will not tell anybody." Reaching out his hand, he added, "I will not give you the chance to."

Aziraphale watched in horror as Uriel's sword materialized in his hand. Michael's eyes widened, too. However, he wasn't the Warrior Prince of Heaven for nothing; a look of regret mixing with the horror on his face, he grasped on Uriel's wrist and twisted the other angel's arm. Uriel wasn't weak, but there was nobody in Heaven -- or, very possibly, anywhere else -- who could have matched Michael's sheer physical strength. With a small cry of pain, he let his sword drop.

However hardened he was in battle and war, Michael still couldn't bear hearing the voice of his beloved's being raised in pain. Even now, he faltered -- only for a second, but it was enough. Uriel again attacked him, knocking him over to the ground.

To his surprise Aziraphale could now see a thin thread leaving the aura of Presence around Michael, disappearing somewhere. Similar ones reached out from Uriel's aura, but those were too numerous to even start counting. Then most of them faded away, only one remaining -- and getting shorter. Suddenly Aziraphale realized that the thread connected Michael's aura to Uriel's. More accurately, it connected Michael to the Presence. And this thread was getting shorter and shorter all the time.

Michael didn't seem to notice this, too concentrated on his unwilled wrestling match with his lover. However, even he noticed as Uriel grasped on the now very short thread that had come within his reach with the obvious intent of tearing it. The Warrior's mouth opened in a yell, but no sound came out. His hand tried to push Uriel's away, to at least knock the thread away from his grasp, but it was no use. Nobody but Uriel could access those threads.

Aziraphale just watched, unable to do anything but scream helplessly in his mind.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Not Enough  



	34. Not Enough

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**034. Not Enough  
**

* * *

  
Just then, Raphael and Gabriel rushed inside. As they saw the situation and especially Michael's horrified expression, they did not hesitate. Within seconds they had torn Uriel away from Michael, and, with a wave of Gabriel's hand and a couple of sparks of Divine energy, put him lying on the floor, unconscious.

"Are you all right, Michael?" Raphael asked gently, glancing at the other angel worriedly. After all, he was the Healer; it was natural that he was first worried for everybody's well-being.

"I -- I don't know, actually," the blond archangel replied, sounding miserable. "The Presence -- it feels... weaker." By the end of the sentence, his voice was very quiet. "He tried to make me Fall..."

"Well, you most certainly haven't Fallen," Gabriel reassured him. "It appears we got here just in time. There might be some damage done by Uriel, but nothing that can't be fixed."

Michael nodded, still slightly dazed. He glanced miserably down at his now unconscious lover and Raphael, who had knelt down next to Uriel. "...Why?" he asked. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"I don't think he was in his right mind," Raphael told him quietly. "For some time now I've suspected that something might be wrong with Uriel. This far, I haven't been able to tell for sure, but now I am certain. There's no way he would try to harm you in such a way otherwise."

"You are truly lucky he didn't manage," Gabriel mentioned. "By the way it looked, with your auras visible, the separation would have been quite violent and probably not easily redeemed."

"How did you know to come here, anyway?" asked Michael, wishing for something to occupy his mind with, anything but this betrayal. "You couldn't have known that something was wrong."

"Well, for that you can thank the young one," Gabriel said, and, to Aziraphale's great surprise, turned towards the glowing essence of his little brother. "I have no idea how, but somehow he managed to call for us. Without him, you now would likely have been separated from Presence by your own lover."

Had Aziraphale had the body to do so, he would probably have blushed. As it was, however, he just felt a sensation of warmth spreading through him, at the same time wondering how he had managed to do such a thing. Probably his shock and desperation had allowed him to contact his brother.

Now Raphael placed the fingertips of one hand on Uriel's forehead, his other hand laying flat on the black archangel's chest. The other occupants of the room watched in absolute silence as he did an examination of his obviously mentally damaged friend, all of them waiting for a diagnosis of some kind.

Suddenly Raphael trembled violently and started to slowly fall from his kneeling position. Gabriel, however, rushed forward and grasped him before he could fall on top of his patient, alarmed. "What is it, love?" he asked, worried.

"So much... pain," Raphael gasped, closing his eyes momentarily as he apparently tried to get his thoughts into some kind of an order. "There's so much pain and darkness inside him... it's unbelievable. The Enemy has managed to worm inside him through the small opening in his aura of Presence. His virtue and power both standing untouched, the Enemy decided to go for the only available goal -- his mind." With a pained glance at Uriel's immobile form, he continued, "I guess it's a true testament to Uriel's strength and intelligence that he has managed to hold it all together for so long already. His mind has been practically torn apart; I've never seen anything so badly damaged and mauled. How he still manages to form a single comprehensible word is a miracle alone; how we noticed nothing until now is nothing short of a wonder."

By now Michael had hid his face in his hands. To think of his lover going through such pain must have been horrible. Aziraphale ached for him, and at the same time he wondered just how Uriel had managed to do it. To constantly fight the Enemy for four millennia without breaking -- that was just unbeliavable.

"I -- I noticed the opening," Michael said quietly, his face still hidden. "He told me that -- that although he did cut Carowiel from the Presence, he gave his brother a bit of his own aura as he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Carowiel completely without it. And because of that... over four millennia! Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he let us know? We could have helped him!"

"He chose not to tell, and that was his decision," Gabriel said quietly. "A bad decision, though -- it hurts me to even think about such pain and damage. And how long he endured it!" For a moment, he was quiet; then he turned towards his lover. "Can you heal him, Raphael?" he asked, his voice still quiet.

"Yes, of course," the redhead replied quietly. "However, it will take quite some time, as no doubt I will need to rest several times before this has been completely healed. At first I have to make sure the Enemy no more gets in, but even that is enough to exhaust me." He cast an apologizing glance at Aziraphale. "I am sorry, Aziraphale, but it appears you will have to heal all by yourself for now. Although uncomfortable, your condition is not dangerous, but if I do not treat Uriel now, the damage will likely spread. And, although he has this far endured it, I fear that he will soon break permanently if this goes on."

Aziraphale couldn't very well nod or even voice his acceptance, but that wasn't needed, either. He realized very well that Uriel was now to be the healer's first priority. Therefore, he just floated around and watched in fascination and slight concern as Raphael started to weave the threads Uriel's aura consisted of, stretching them over the opening, reforming and bending and modifying. Michael and Gabriel watched too, their expressions mixtures of worry, fear, and desperate hope. There was an occasional grimace of pain to be seen on Uriel's face -- something that would have never been allowed through the usual mask of calmness, had the Angel of Divine Presence been awake. Only Raphael remained expressionless, concentrating solely on his work, his eyes reserved for the glowing threads he wove and bound.

Finally the red-haired healer sealed the threads of Uriel's aura and made a little gesture, allowing the aura to disappear from sight. Then he wavered in exhaustion, only to be again caught by Gabriel's ready hands. "I have closed his aura and sealed his mind," Raphael told them. "There will be no further damage for now. However, little remains of his true mind, and restoring even that little will take a lot of work and time." He now raised his tired gaze to Michael. "Michael, I have no doubt that his continued endurance of this torture is partly thanks to your love and support for him. Do not cease giving him that. Even after I've done what I can, there will be a lot of healing he has to go through by himself before he is even nearly healthy. One's body I can always heal, and a soul cannot be harmed, but a mind is a tricky matter, even more so when it's such a complicated one as Uriel's in question. Very likely there will never again be Uriel as we once knew him, but we must accept the new Uriel, and, more importantly, help him accept himself. And do not, under any circumstances, blame him for his attack on you. He didn't know what he was doing."

Michael nodded seriously. "I could never blame him for it," he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper but well audible to the angelic ears -- or, in Aziraphale's case, just angelic hearing -- of the other occupants of the room. "Rather I blame myself, for not being able to detect the damage earlier."

"There is nothing to blame yourself for," Gabriel said sternly. "None of us is to blame, not you, not Uriel, not anybody. The only one we can accuse of causing this is the Adversary and his forces."

"I know that," the leader of the Host sighed. "However, I cannot help thinking that maybe I could have prevented the damage had I noticed this earlier, or at least done something to ease his pain. I loved him, love him, will always love him -- but apparently my love is not enough to protect him." In a broken whisper, he repeated, "Not enough."

To that none of them could say anything.

* * *

Aziraphale glanced around in the room he was currently floating in. There were two miracled beds in the room. On one lay Uriel, looking very pale and fragile, and on another Raphael, sleeping soundly after the exhaustion of the first part of healing. Gabriel sat on the edge of Raphael's bed, gently petting his lover's hair and mumbling inaudible reassurances, while Michael stood beside Uriel's resting place, constantly alert. Whenever his lover even twitched -- which was quite often, as the dark archangel appeared to be sleeping rather restlessly -- he immediately leant forward, examining the situation. Not finding anything different from earlier, he then returned to his former watch spot.

Of course, Aziraphale couldn't really blame him for being so twitchy. He had every reason to be, what with his lover attacking him due to some Hell-originated mental problems.

Aziraphale hoped he could have said something, comforted Michael, told him it would be all right or at least better. However, he had no mouth, no lips or tongue to form any words, not even a hand to place on the Warrior's shoulder.

It was probably for the better, anyway. He wouldn't have known what to say.

Still silently floating in the air, he wondered what Heaven would do until Uriel recovered... if he ever did.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Sixth Sense  



	35. Sixth Sense

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**034. Not Enough  
**

* * *

According to Raphael, Uriel was slowly recovering. Any outward signs of progress couldn't be seen, but if Raphael's exhaustion whenever he had worked on healing the other archangel told anything of the amount of work he was doing, Uriel simply had to be doing better. Michael had to be practically dragged away from his bedside to get him leave it for even a moment. With Gabriel busy making sure that Raphael didn't exhaust himself too much and Michael didn't neglect all his duties, Aziraphale was left with pretty little to do, aside from watching everything that was going on around him and trying to recover himself. 

Uriel regaining consciousness was, according to Raphael, a big step on the way of recovery. At first Uriel seemed to have truly lost his mind completely – he couldn't even speak, not seeming to recognize anybody, much to Michael's agony. Slowly he regained the ability to speak and express himself. The day he first looked at Michael and called him by his name was one on which they all rejoiced.

Once the recovery had properly begun, it continued more rapidly. Raphael had to do less and less to repair the damage to Uriel's mind. In the meantime, Aziraphale grew himself another body and returned to Earth. However, he now visited Heaven regularly, wanting to stay up to date about how Uriel was getting better.

Finally, it seemed the archangel had recovered even more completely than Raphael could have ever foreseen. He still stumbled over words occasionally, and sometimes seemed to forget entirely what he had been doing mere seconds before, but every day he got closer to normal. For the most part nobody could have guessed that there had ever been something wrong with his mind.

However, something had changed in Uriel. Most of the angels saw him becoming more open, smiling, snapping, showing his emotions like he never had before. Sure, those signs of his emotions were rather mild, rarely anything but a slight smile or a raised eyebrow, but they were definitely more than what they could have expected of the previously stone-faced archangel. The change, whatever had caused it, was definitely for the better, the angels decided.

Those close to Uriel, who had actually known his open side before the change, however, were slowly getting desperate. Uriel allowed mild emotions to show through to everybody, yes, but nothing else. It was like he hadn't even felt anything else, ever. Slight friendliness was the most they got from him -- sure, he had never been the most open of people, but to them he had always showed more than this! They simply didn't know what to do.

Michael in particular was at a loss. He still loved Uriel, loved him so much it made him ache, but he got no love back. Sure, Uriel often expressed his gratefulness for Michael's care and devotion, and obviously meant it. Sure, he got affection unlike that reserved to their friends, indicating that their relationship was different from simple friendship. However, that was all there was. Affection, however un-friend-like and loving it may have been, simply wasn't enough. He craved Uriel's love, wanted to touch and feel and hold and love, but the other apparently didn't even understand his emotions.

As an angel, he was used to sensing love. He'd also become accustomed to feeling Uriel's love for him. Now, however, that had become a thing of the past – and he didn't know what to do.

Finally, he collected his courage to question his beloved.

"Uriel?" he asked softly as they were alone, hoping his near-desperation wasn't audible in his voice. "Why don't you love me anymore?"

Uriel gave him a confused gaze, like he hadn't understood the question. "What do you mean?" he asked back. "Of course I love you, just like I've always done. Have I ever told you otherwise?"

"Perhaps you love me," Michael said, "but only as a friend nowadays. Obviously you don't love me any more than you do Gabriel or Raphael."

Again, Uriel looked confused. "That is not true!" he said. "I love you as so much more than a friend. I could never say that you are like Gabriel or Raphael to me. Sure, they are my friends, and I love them dearly, but not like I love you."

"Then why don't you show it?" Now, the warrior's voice was pained and he knew it, but he did nothing to hide the fact. "You treat me like one of your friends. I love you, Uriel, I love you more than anything aside from Him, and what do I get? An affectionate smile at most. Before, I could feel your love, feel it coming from you like waves of warmth. Compared with that, what I now get is nothing."

The green eyes looked at him, sincere confusion well visible in them. And when Uriel spoke, his voice was a mix of that confusion, apology, and love that still didn't come even near to what it had been before. "Michael... I do not understand what you mean."

Michael made a strangled sound, turning around. He hurried away, trying to block his emotions of longing and desperation, still feeling confused emerald eyes on his back.

* * *

"He doesn't understand," Michael said miserably. "Uriel doesn't love me like he used to, and he doesn't even understand how anything is different from before. You must have noticed it, too. Sure, he still appears friendly to us all, but not like he was before. It's not true friendship - it is the friendliness showed to everybody you know by name and don't outwardly hate! And he doesn't even realize that anything is wrong!" 

Aziraphale was silent. He knew that Michael was right, even though he didn't want to admit it. Uriel appeared, while publicly more open than ever, rather distant in private compared with what he had been before. This disturbed him a great deal. What kind of damage had the Enemy made?

Gabriel didn't say anything, either. He just shook his head slowly as if in denial, his eyes locked at the table they were gathered around.

They all turned towards Raphael, question in their eyes, silently pleading the Healer to offer them an explanation and, hopefully, a solution. When the redhead opened his mouth to speak, they all listened eagerly.

"I feared something like this," the Healer admitted quietly. "The time he was under the influence of the Enemy was bound to damage him somehow. From what I've gathered this far, his intelligence appears untouched. His mind is still as sharp as ever. However, his emotions…" Raphael shook his head, looking miserable. "There is nothing we can do, I fear. The damage made during the four millennia and especially the shock of attacking Michael simply burned away a big part of his emotion scale – that's the only way I can describe it. It's not that his feelings had changed, or he doesn't want to feel like he did before. He simply can't feel such strong love and affection, can't feel them and can't understand them, either. Most probably, while definitely grateful for it, Uriel doesn't even understand your love for him, Michael. He can't comprehend how somebody could feel something so strong. It warms him just like his love warmed you in the past, he likes it, loves it, is sincerely grateful for it. However, he doesn't understand how you can love him so much. To him, it is simply impossible."

"But how can that be possible?" demanded the warrior. "How could anybody not understand something as simple as love?"

"Can you understand the desires of demons?" asked Gabriel quietly, his eyes again locked at the tabletop. "Do you comprehend how they are able to feel such wrath, such lust and desire, will to hurt? Do you understand how anybody can have vile feelings that strong? Are you able to feel such things?"

"Of course not," Michael said, sounding miserable. "I'm not a demon, after all. But neither is Uriel!"

"No, he isn't," Raphael admitted. "And I haven't claimed that he is a demon, or evil. He is still very much an angel. However, he simply cannot feel things like other angels. Mild amusement, affection, friendship, even anger, sure, they are all possible for him. He can understand them, handle them, give them out to others. But anything beyond that…" The healer shook his head, sighing. "There's nothing to be done. The damage may be irreparable, I fear. You will have to be satisfied with what you receive from him… Or give up hope of ever having his love again."

Aziraphale had witnessed several fights, battles, even victories over the Warrior Prince – all of them by Lucifer, as far as his memory served him. However, despite all these experiences, he had never seen Michael look as defeated before.

* * *

"I don't understand Michael." 

The statement startled Aziraphale. Even after the change, Uriel usually was quiet whenever they were alone, and he returned the favour. Now, however, he turned to look at the archangel, who had just spoken. "What - what do you mean?" he asked carefully.

"I don't understand his feelings for me," Uriel elaborated. "I can feel it just as well as I can see light, or hear sounds. It's obvious that he loves me. I love him, too, I really do - and not as a friend, either. However, he loves me more - much more than I do him. And I simply can't understand how that is possible." As he looked at the startled Aziraphale, he looked a bit sad. "I can feel other emotions, too… those of the others. Gabriel and Raphael, they both love each other as strongly as Michael loves me. And you all love each other as friends, family, and for some reason you love me as a friend, too. But it's so much - more than I could ever hope to achieve."

"It's not your fault," the younger angel muttered. "You can't help it."

"No, I cannot," Uriel admitted, sighing. "That is true. I love you all as dearly as I'm able to, but it doesn't come even close. It's not that I don't want to feel such things - I want to, I really do, I don't want anything as badly as I wish I could return to Michael all the love he gives to me. But I cannot. I cannot feel, and I cannot understand." The green eyes were sincere as ever, questioning him with almost childish innocence hidden in their depths. "What is wrong with me, Aziraphale? Why cannot I feel like I once did?"

"The Enemy," replied the younger angel quietly. "Raphael - Raphael said that the shock of attacking Michael because of the Enemy's corruption burned away your emotions. Otherwise your mind is like it was before, but you can't feel normal emotions except for their very mildest forms."

"First they take my brother, then they take my sanity, and now they take my heart," muttered Uriel. "Well, isn't this great." He started to draw something with a pen and a paper that had not been there a moment before.

"Michael doesn't understand visual perspective," Uriel suddenly said after a moment of silence. "I never understood how he could not comprehend such a simple thing. In a battle, he constantly has to evaluate where his opponent is, how long a way they have between them, how should he move his sword to strike them – he has no trouble understanding depth and distance. However, despite everything I did, all my advice and explanations, he never could understand what perspective has to do with art. Why his sketches look so funny. He knows what is wrong, but he can't understand how to fix it." He looked at the drawing critically, then let it disappear in a puff of flames. "I feel the same way now, Aziraphale. I know I should be feeling more, stronger, but I don't know how. It's a – it's a very helpless feeling."

Aziraphale tried to say something, anything, to comfort Uriel, to tell him that everything would be okay eventually. However, he could think of nothing that he could say.

It might have been easier had Uriel truly looked helpless instead of a bit discontent.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Smell 


	36. Smell

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

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**036. Smell**

* * *

The air smelled of burned flesh and unholy powers. Aziraphale had to fight against nausea so as not to throw up. Just when he had decided that nothing could possibly be more revolting than the smell, he actually saw the bodies, and changed his mind.

There were several angels there, somehow still within their bodies, although he could tell it wasn't by far. This, however, worried him more than if they had been separated from their body. Unholy powers were needed to relieve an angel of their body, true, but if there was too much of infernal energy, the consequences were much worse. The essence was trapped inside the body as it died. Although the essence could not cease existing any more than human souls could disappear, after enough exposure to unholy powers, it couldn't form a new body, possibly not ever again. The amount of unholy powers needed for that, however, was so enormous that it almost never happened.

To think of something that could trap so many to their bodies, coming as close to permanently killing an angel as possible…

Raphael and other healers hurried around, not even attempting to heal the bodies, concentrating simply on tearing the essences out of the bodies while they still could. It was extremely painful, yes, and required a long period of recovery afterwards, but it was a better fate than floating around endlessly as a bundle of light, not knowing whether you could ever again speak or touch or even move at your own will.

Uriel came in just then. He looked a bit shocked at the sight, well knowing what this meant, but no other reaction came from him, as was to be expected. "What happened?" he asked from the nearest warrior who, while badly wounded, was well enough to speak.

"We were… attacked," the angel replied wearily, every word obviously a pain to utter. "A group of demons… so much more of them… We stood no chance, sir, no chance at all. All we could hope was to get away from there as soon as possible…"

Uriel merely nodded, filing away the information in his once again well-organized mind. "And what about Michael?" he asked them, as if he hadn't even thought of the Warrior Prince until then.

"Gone," replied the warrior bitterly. "He is gone… We saw him being caught by Hellfire, from several sources at the same time, and then he wasn't there anymore. We tried to retrieve his essence, but couldn't get to him… Our Lord Above only knows what has happened to him."

For a moment Uriel just stood there, looking frozen. Then, faster than Aziraphale could even blink, he rushed out of the room. Raphael yelped in surprise, but Aziraphale was already hurrying after the dark-haired archangel, knowing better than to let him out of his sight.

Never before had Aziraphale seen somebody making their way from Heaven to Earth so fast. He was having a hard time keeping up with Uriel himself even though he was used to travelling the way somewhat regularly. Although Uriel hadn't been informed of where the battle had been fought, he seemed to have no problem finding the battlefield. Then again, such a concentration of demonic powers should certainly cause a disturbance in the Presence, guiding him better than any coordinates given by others could.

If the sight of the damaged angels had been bad, it was even worse there. The bodies of fallen demons and the angels who had been fortunate enough to get discorporated lay on the ground, mangled and slashed and mutilated in unimaginable ways. Here and there Aziraphale saw burned bodies reduced to charcoal – a proof that Hellfire had been involved. Constantly reminding himself not to breathe, he followed Uriel on his way towards the centre of the battlefield – Michael's most probable location.

Suddenly he realized somebody was moving nearby. Spinning around, he saw several demons he had thought dead rising to their feet. Their auras masked by the traces of demonic power around, they had lain in wait for anybody who might think of coming to retrieve the fallen angels.

Aziraphale froze, silently scolding himself for running into such an obvious trap. Uriel, however, merely stood there calmly. "Remove yourself from here," he said coolly, "or I will not hold myself responsible for the consequences."

"Consequences? What consequences?" taunted the most powerful of the demons. "You are both unarmed, I see. What would you do against us, Severer? We already took down your dear lover – and you shall be next."

"Point one: I am never unarmed," Uriel said, flicking a knife from his sleeve. "Point two... Michael, however great a soldier he is, is just that, a soldier. My sword has slain you all once – but I do not need to hurt you again."

Aziraphale didn't even realize what was happening before it was already over. A wave of Divine energy washed over him, colliding with the demons. And then, almost as quickly, it was gone. The demons, however, did not rise from where they had fallen next to their companions.

"Those idiots," muttered Uriel. He seemed a bit drawn – understandable after such an action -- but determinedly continued walking over the corpses. "They use Hellfire on us, yet they never expect pure Presence to have such power. And they never learn, either..."

Aziraphale's eyes caught the gleam of sun on blond hair among the corpses. Hurrying towards it, he found Uriel following himself now. Kneeling down beside Michael's body, he grimaced. The single lock of blond hair he'd seen was about all that was left of Michael. The rest of him had been burned unrecognizable, only his armour – partly melted due to the extreme heat it had been subjected to – and sword identifying him as the Marshall of Heaven. The body was very much dead – and the essence was still trapped inside. And it was far too late to remove it now.

Uriel knelt on Michael's other side. "That idiot," he muttered, his voice only showing the same annoyance it had when he had been talking about the demons just a moment earlier. "He just can't stay out of the worst places, can he?" His hand travelled to the scorched chest in a strange cross of a gentle caress and a curious touch on an unfamiliar texture.

Aziraphale bit his lip, wondering what would come of Michael now. He couldn't be removed from his body, so he would be trapped inside it until it wore off. And after that, there was no proof he would ever again have a body.

Who would fight for Heaven now? Who would rise their sword even when all the other warriors fell back? Whose name would they call when rushing into a battle once more?

Suddenly he realized that Uriel's aura was now visible. And so was, he noticed, a very faint aura around Michael, a thin thread connecting Uriel's palm to Michael's chest.

Aziraphale swallowed, all too well remembering the last time he had seen that thread. However, Uriel didn't seem to have any ill intent now. Raising his palm from the chest, he seemed to be trying to get something to follow...

And then, faster than Aziraphale could even blink, a sphere of light burst out of Michael's chest, pulled by the thread Uriel controlled. The light was so bright it hurt his eyes. This wasn't too surprising, though – after all, it was the aura of an archangel concentrated into a space small enough to fit onto Uriel's palm.

Somehow, Uriel had managed to draw Michael's essence from his dead body.

There was something taunting his angelic senses, previously masked by all the infernal influence around him but now impossible to ignore. It was love, he realized – pure, unsullied love stronger than anything he had felt before, mixed with an enormous amount of relief. And it was coming from Uriel.

For a moment Aziraphale was unable to move or speak, overwhelmed by the warmth of love radiating from the archangel. Then Uriel picked Michael's sword in the hand that was not carrying the Warrior himself and stood up, breaking the moment. The feeling of love disappeared, fading into the mild affection he was now used to sensing from Uriel. However, it had been there. Aziraphale had sensed it, for a moment – and he was sure that Michael, despite being reduced to mere light for the moment, had sensed it as well.

Uriel could no more feel normal emotions, Raphael had told them.

Apparently, however, extremely strong ones were still possible for him.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Sound 


	37. Sound

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.**  
**

* * *

**037. Sound**

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"What a surprise," Aziraphale said, not the least bit surprised. He had long since come to expect Crowley to show up on this particular day every year, no matter how long he had stayed away before that. Of course there were exceptions, but whenever Crowley was even relatively nearby he came to visit Aziraphale on this special occasion.

"Don't look like that, angel," the demon said, smirking. "I come bearing gifts, see?" He held up his offering – some of the best wine known to humankind.

"Stop trying to tempt me, you idiot," Aziraphale sighed, stepping aside to allow the demon in. "I'm not going to drink with you no matter what you try, you know."

"What a pity," Crowley said, sighing dramatically. "Then you probably don't have any interest for this book I found just for you, either…"

"Oh, be quiet, you old serpent," huffed Aziraphale, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to bribe me – aside from keeping your promise to behave yourself for a few days."

"As if I have any choice," snorted Crowley. "I can't do anything as long as I am staying here."

"Of course you have a choice," Aziraphale said mildly, at the same time trying to hide his excitement as Crowley took the promised book from his bag. "I'm not forcing you to stay here."

"No staying here, though, means being ill for days," Crowley shot back dryly. "You know very well only the weakest demons will voluntarily stay on Earth tonight, being too insignificant to be affected. So, I have to be here or subject myself to the full force of Heavenly choirs – or go to Hell, which I'm not about to do as long as I can still avoid it."

"Then don't complain, my dear. After all, I am doing you a favour here," Aziraphale said. "Would you like something to eat or are you going to survive on wine alone?"

"I could very well survive with neither, but then I never said no to a bit of good Gluttony," Crowley said. "Nothing like sinning with an angel at Christmas night."

"It's not sinning," Aziraphale said disapprovingly, leading the way to the table where he had set a feast for two. "It is done to celebrate the birth of Our Lord."

"That may be why you do it," Crowley said cheerfully. "I, however, do it for Gluttony, simple as that. Now, shall we start?"

Aziraphale sighed and nodded. He didn't bother to say a blessing, knowing all too well that Crowley would respond with a damning and then it'd do no good at all. Besides, it wouldn't be polite to do so. He didn't know what blessed food would do to a demon, but he doubted it'd be anything nice. It would be like adding poison to the meal in front of your guest – even if they did have counter poison, it was still extremely rude.

The dinner was good. Of course, this was hardly a surprise – Aziraphale always made sure the Christmas dinner was good. He talked with Crowley, and enjoyed the conversation; wine always made the demon more talkative. Not that he was exactly quiet even otherwise, Heaven forbid. After their long association Aziraphale knew better than well that the demon seldom would stay quiet for long. Unless, of course, he was sleeping.

They were still eating when he heard the first notes, as night began to fall and the first stars made their way to the sky. Not commenting on the, he strengthened the wards around his little home. After so much practice, he could manage it with ease, even though he only did it once a year. After all, he didn't have many reasons to try to keep Heavenly powers outside. At first, it had been difficult, but after he had figured out it was a bit like hiding his aura, only reversed, he'd quickly got used to it.

Crowley didn't say anything, not a single word of thanks. He just nodded, satisfied, and Aziraphale returned the gesture. He'd never expect outward expressions of gratitude from the demon. That just wasn't Crowley's style. After all, he was a demon.

By the time they stopped eating, the singing was quite loud. Aziraphale recognized the voices of Israfel and Uriel, leading the others through the complicated symphonies of praise. To his slight discomfort he realized that both angels were singing with at least three voices at the moment – it made his head ache as he tried to follow them all. So, he stopped paying attention to the choirs, content in simply knowing they were there, up on the sky, singing.

Crowley had his wine, Aziraphale had his book. The talkative demon easily filled whatever moments of silence were born as Aziraphale studied his newly acquired piece of literature, both of them being quite happy with this arrangement as it was easy on them both.

"Humans are ssstupid," said Crowley. He still had a tendency to hiss whenever he forgot not to. Aziraphale wondered whether that would ever change. In some way, it was comforting – at least something stayed the same through all the millennia he'd lived through.

"Is that just a general statement, or do you have a particular reason to make this observation, my dear?" he asks mildly, not rising his eyes from the book. It is really quite interesting, something he would have chosen himself, as well. Apparently Crowley is finally starting to learn his taste in literature.

"Both." The demon waved a drunken hand to make his point clear. "They are all ssso ssstupid. They've got free will to do whatever they damn well pleassse, and what do they do? Follow the advice of either my ssside or yours. Sssometimesss even both. Can't they be original at all?"

"And what would be original, then, my dear?" Aziraphale asked. "If they're not good, they are bad. And the other way around."

"No no no no," the demon said with a slurred voice. "It'sss not all black 'n white. Not for humansss. They can be – what'sss the word? – oh, yes, neutral. They can be neutral. Like, do thingsss that aren't sssinning but aren't doing good either. Thingsss that don't matter to either of our sssidesss. Why don't they do thossse? Make them matter to themssselves? Why do they lisssten to all that crap about good and bad and nothing elssse?"

"Because we tell them to?" Aziraphale offered. "As you said, those things matter to our sides. Every human has a little demon at their shoulder just like they have a tiny angel on the other one. And besides, they have been original," he continued then. "Remember Nero? Christian torches in his garden? I'm quite sure those weren't your side's idea."

"No," admitted Crowley, sighing. "We came up with the lionsss, though. I liked the lionsss. With a bit of faith you'd get them non-hungry and then the crowd'd be all dissspleasssed like and it'd caussse a lot more chaosss than jussst a few Chrisstiansss getting eaten."

Aziraphale decided not to comment on the fact that it was strange for a demon to like a method of torturing believers because it might fail. Instead, he said, "The fire didn't get all of them, though."

"Doesssn't matter. With the lionsss, it pisssed the people off more." Crowley waved his hand dismissively. "But that makesss my ssside happy even if it isssn't our idea. Why don't humansss do more thingsss that don't matter to anybody but them?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale replied quietly. "I really don't know."

Not long after that, Crowley was asleep. Aziraphale huffed good-naturedly and then covered him with a blanket. Let him sleep now, reassured that the choir's combined auras wouldn't reach him.

Aziraphale stepped out for a moment, looking up to the sky. At this time, the little town was mostly asleep, nothing disturbing the voice of the choirs. Thus he also heard very well the little voice calling from a nearby window, "Lizten, Mum! Angelz zing!"

A sad smile rose onto his face. Little Maria had been sick for quite some time already. Even now she was probably too ill to even sleep. Her mother must have thought she was hallucinating.

It delighted him, though, that there were still people who would hear the angel choirs. It had used to be quite common, in the old days; nowadays it happened practically never.

After some time he went back inside. Crowley was still asleep, as could only be expected. With a tiny shake of his head, Aziraphale returned to his book. Hosting a demon for one night a year was worth it if it gained him peace over the holidays. Thus it was both Crowley's breath and the angels' praise that he listened to as he continued reading.

As morning came, the singing faded away. And, when the lovely Mrs. Baker came to him, telling with tears in her eyes that little Maria had passed on at dawn – and at Christmas, even! What a tragedy! – he was not truly surprised.

"Do not cry," he told her quietly. "The angels took your daughter straight to Heaven as they returned there after praising God all night."

It was a pity, he thought, that so few people could hear the choirs. And even more of a pity was it that most only did so when they were about to join the praise in Heaven themselves.

* * *

** Next Prompt:** Touch 


	38. Touch

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**038. Touch**

* * *

The grass was soft under his back.

Aziraphale really enjoyed this, little silent moments away from humanity. Since Jesus' days they had spread so far, invading new areas faster than he could have ever imagined they would. Humans were exciting creatures, really, but sometimes they were also tiring.

Fortunately he still could steal a moment just for himself every now and then. Like now, enjoying a rare sunny day, lying in the middle of a lush meadow, naked and unashamed. (Not that there was much for him to be ashamed about in his nakedness, being sexless as he was.)

Then, he felt it. First the light flicker of a forked tongue against his ankle, then the rasp of scales moving along his skin. Moving his gaze from the beautiful blue sky he saw the head of the snake settling to rest on his leg before starting to move again.

"What exactly are you trying to achieve, you vile serpent?" asked Aziraphale, more amusement than annoyance in his voice. "Are you trying to seduce me, perchance? In such an attempt you would be sorely disappointed, as I have no desire for bestiality."

"Isss that all you ever think of?" hissed Crowley. He soon moved past the rather uninteresting sexless groin, then let his head rest on Aziraphale's stomach. "You're jussst warm. Lovely lovely warm."

"Well, it's nice to know I can be of help somehow," Aziraphale snorted, returning his gaze to the sky. "Even if it is only to keep a demon warm and comfortable."

"Hey, it'sss a good deed to help sssomeone," Crowley replied. "Nobody ever sssaid it'd have to be a human, did they? Or another angel?" With a small, content hiss, he moved further, his head now coming up to Aziraphale's chest. "Angel warmth, mmm. It'sss ssso good."

This time, Aziraphale didn't bother to reply. He just settled one hand on top of Crowley's head, scratching the shiny scales slightly. Crowley let out a content hiss, the end of his tail twitching at its location near Aziraphale's ankle, his body forming curves all over the angel's legs and torso.

For some time they just lay there, neither saying a word. Aziraphale enjoyed the silence and beauty of the summer day, while Crowley enjoyed the beams of sun and the angel's body heat. Neither of them could be bothered to move.

Finally, though, Crowley broke the silence. "You know, angel," he said, "we really aren't behaving like we're sssupposssed to. Like an angel and a demon, I mean. Even right now, I could be ssseducing you."

"Would you rather be a 'normal' demon, then?" asked Aziraphale. He waited for an answer for some time, but Crowley remained silent. Finally, the angel just smiled. "That's rather what I thought."

"An average demon hasss two brain cellsss who ssswim around in their head and never meet," Crowley hissed. "Don't you dare compare me with them!"

"Or what? You'll bite me?" Aziraphale grinned. "I always wondered about that, you know. You look more like the kind of a snake who'd throttle their victims, not use venom. Yet I know very well you are poisonous – even when you aren'you're your snake form."

"Only when I want to be," muttered Crowley. "I don't like the word spreading around about that, though. There are some demons who would find it incredibly amusing."

"Then you'll have to hope I never tell them about it, won't you?" Aziraphale asked, grinning a bit. As the snake hissed threateningly, he then chuckled, resuming his former scratching of the scaled head. "Do not worry. You are the only demon I have any dealings with on a regular basis."

"I ssshould hope ssso," Crowley hissed. "When they've put me on charge of Earth, they'd damn well better keep anybody elssse off my turf or I'll be forced to make any intrudersss leave with my own meansss."

"Oh, come on now, Crowley," Aziraphale said. "It's not like we're the only ones on Earth and you know it. We couldn't be, with the rate the population is growing with. We are just the, well, permanent staff here. We're keeping an eye on things, making sure none of the temporary workers cause trouble, that sort of thing. It's not like you could tempt every human into sin all by yourself, or like I could lead them all to salvation all by myself."

"Ssstill, I don't want anybody elssse on my area," hissed Crowley. "Hey, I can't help it! I'm a demon. We're possssessssive. It'sss a part of the bloody job description."

"That's what you always say," Aziraphale remarked. "Everything's a part of the job description if you want to get away with it. Do tell me, has any kind of an official job description ever been written down for demons?"

"Of courssse not. And neither hasss any been written for you angelsss," replied the demon dryly. "You ussse it all the time, too. 'Angelsss don't ssswear,' 'angelsss don't walk around naked,' 'angelsss don't have any fun,' all part of the job dessscription?"

"I am naked at the very moment," Aziraphale pointed out. "Or is it the walking part that makes it matter? And I do object to that last remark. I have fun on a quite regular basis. Just because it doesn't match with your definition of 'fun' doesn't make it any less enjoyable."

"Yesss, you are naked. But you are alssso sssexlessss. What'sss the point in being naked if you reveal nothing?" Crowley slithered a bit further on Aziraphale's chest, the forked tongue flickering against the angel's jaw. "One day, I'll get you drunk, angel. And that day, you'll sssee what it isss like to really have fun."

"You keep saying that," Aziraphale said. "I'll await with baited breath the day you actually manage to do it. Besides, I seriously doubt being drunk makes life that much better."

"Jussst wait until you sssee it for yourself," Crowley said. "Then you'll know what you've been missssing all this time."

"Well, I've managed to live this far without experiencing it. I'm sure I'll survive until then."

"Ssspoilsssport." Crowley flickered his tongue one last time, then calmed down, resting his head under Aziraphale's still scratching fingers.

Aziraphale looked up to the sky. It was blue, bright, and far, far away.

The grass was soft under his back. And the snake was cold on his skin.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Taste 


	39. Taste

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**039. Taste**

* * *

Crowley grinned, raising his cup. "To my victory," he announced with a smug tone.

Aziraphale raised his cup as well, although not without a questioningly raised eyebrow. "Your victory over what, exactly?" he asked before bringing the cup to his lips.

"You, of course." The demon smirked. "Granted, it took over a thousand years, but I got you to drink with me!"

"I'd like to remind you that I was victorious for those thousand years," Aziraphale pointed out. "Your victory is tonight only. And besides, your goal was always to make me drunk, not merely make me drink."

"Tonight's victory robs all meaning from your thousand years," Crowley claimed. "And the distinction between drink and drunk is only time."

"That's what you say." Aziraphale took a sip of the beverage. "It tastes... not bad," he commented.

"Of course it doesn't taste bad!" Crowley exclaimed, sounding slightly exasperated. "It's the best bloody wine since Babylon, and nothing could ever rival those!" He drank of his own cup.

"You would know that," Aziraphale muttered. "After all, you have certainly sampled every kind of wine there has ever been." However, his tone was more amused than anything.

"Blessed right," the demon replied. "I can't understand just how you've managed to stand humanity so long without getting drunk occasionally."

"It is called patience, my dear," Aziraphale said. "Patience, and faith in the Ineffable Plan."

"Patience, my arse," snorted Crowley, waving a hand dismissively. "It's called bloody avoiding the issue!"

"Now, now. I don't 'avoid the issue', as you put it. I am merely very selective in choosing the matters I concern myself about," Aziraphale said smugly.

"'Tis the same thing." Crowley emptied his cup, then smirked. "What shall we drink to next? Your splendid failure?"

"I think," Aziraphale said with admirable patience, "that we should drink to the Arrangement instead."

"Spoilsport," muttered Crowley. However, this didn't stop him from drinking to it nevertheless.

* * *

"I think you've had quite enough by now, my dear."

"No I haven't," said Crowley, his voice a bit slurred. "I haven't had half enough. 'M not even properly drunk."

"Yes you have," Aziraphale insisted. He had had a bit too much as well, he suspected.

"Ssspoilsssport," hissed the demon.

"Ha! There, see? Or listen," Aziraphale said, feeling a bit confused. Which one was he supposed to say? "You're hissing. Hiss-hiss-hissing. That means you've had too much already."

"No I haven't. I hissss becaussse I'm a sssnake. It hasss nothing to do with alcohol. Nothing at all. I've hardly drunk anything yet." Crowley might have been more convincing if he hadn't been pouring himself yet another cup as he said this.

"Nooo. You're drunk. You're having a hissy fit." Aziraphale giggled. "This is fun, though. Being drunk. I'm glad you convinced me to do this. Should do it more often."

"Sssee? Ssshould trussst me more often. 'M trussstable. Not many demonsss are. An exception, that'sss me."

"No I shouldn't. Shouldn't trust demons. Demons lie." Aziraphale drank some more. "...What were we talking about?"

"I don't know." Crowley sighed. "I hoped we'd have better drunken conversssationsss. But thisss isss no fun, really."

Aziraphale considered this for a moment. Finally, he said, "Maybe we should drink some more?"

"That," Crowley said, "sssoundsss like a blessssed good idea."

* * *

"Humansss are ssstupid," Crowley announced.

"I think we've quite covered that issue during the last few centuries," Aziraphale pointed out. "You always talk about how stupid they are when you're bored. Or drunk. Or sleepy, or just talkative. No matter what, everything always comes down to humans being stupid."

"Not everything," Crowley argued. "Cowsss don't. Cowsss have nothing to do with humansss being ssstupid. Cowsss are good. They make milk and don't asssk quessstionsss." After a pause he added, "I like cowsss."

"More on your plate than in your drink, I've come to notice," Aziraphale said. "…Or was it oxen? Are oxen and cows the same thing or a different thing?"

"I don't know," Crowley said. "I don't care much, either. Aren't cowsss the onesss that make milk, though? If ssso, I like cowsss."

"You might be right," Aziraphale said. "Cows are much smarter than humans. No jealousy, no wars, no revenge. Just lots of grass and milk." He frowned. "How do they make grass from milk? Or was it milk from grass?"

Crowley giggled. "You ssshould know," he said. "You're the sssmart one here. You read all thossse booksss."

"I don't read books about cows. Or oxen." Aziraphale raised his cup to empathize his point. "You said you like cows. If you like them, shouldn't you be interested in knowing stuff about them?"

"That'sss why I'm asssking you, ssstupid angel." Crowley grinned. "I've a forked tongue. Want to see?"

"I've seen it many times," Aziraphale said. "Is that why you hiss? Hisss-iss-isss. Have a hissy fit." He giggled.

"Maybe. Or maybe not. 'M not sssure." Crowley grinned. "Maybe it'sss jussst becaussse I'm weird. Or maybe it jussst comesss naturally to usss ssserpentine beingsss."

"You mean, you vile reptilian creatures who still haven't figured out walking," Aziraphale giggled. "Do snakes eat cows?"

"Only very big sssnakes. And very big cowsss." The demon suddenly looked like he'd got an idea. This rarely promised anything good. "Wanna sssee my sssnake?"

Aziraphale flushed in a way that had little to do with the amount of alcohol he had been consuming. "Now, now, really," he said. "I think we should maybe kind of sober up…"

"Nnnoooo," groaned Crowley. "Not yet. Have to deal with humansss then. Ssstupid humansss, alwaysss have to hide my eyesss from them. I don't have to hide my eyesss from cowsss."

Aziraphale considered this for a moment.

Then he poured himself some more wine.

* * *

The next morning was, needless to say, not really pleasant.

"Oww," grumbled Crowley. "My head'sss killing me."

"So is mine," sighed Aziraphale. "We really should have sobered up earlier… You're still hissing."

"No, I'm not," protested Crowley. "I don't hissss. Unlessss drunk. Or in sssnake form."

"Well, now you do." Aziraphale grimaced as more memories from the night before rose into his mind. "'Wanna see my snake?' Really, my dear…"

"I mussst have been really, really drunk," admitted Crowley mournfully. "I'm not usually that immature…"

"I do know that by now." Aziraphale sighed. "I'm never, ever touching wine again."

Now, though, Crowley grinned. "Care to bet, angel?" he asked.

Aziraphale did not.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Sight 


	40. Sight

**Disclaimer:** I own very little.

* * *

**040. Sight**

* * *

Aziraphale looked at the painting he had just received. The artist had talent, he had to admit that. Not as much talent as Uriel, of course, but he doubted anybody else was as gifted – or had had as much practice – in painting as the archangel. For a human, the work was spectacular, just like he had expected it to be. 

A portrait of the four archangels, each with their familiar symbols. It was a perfect subject for an artist, and one that once again had been skilfully done for others' enjoyment. It was too bad, really, that he would soon take it to Heaven, away from any human eyes.

It was… different from the truth, at least. The four archangels were pictured in a lush green garden, each in richly decorated clothes, with multi-coloured wings. Michael was close enough to reality, tall and blond and a sword at ready. However, Aziraphale very much doubted this Michael would have ever let any of his generals call him by his first name. Sure, the Michael he knew was firm when he needed to be, but he'd never had the almost ice-like strictness that radiated from the painted figure's face.

Raphael, too, was different. With brown hair and grey eyes, he looked nothing like his true self. Something in the way he stood there, holding a staff, was so distant that Aziraphale had a hard time trying to associate this emotionless being with the smiling healer he knew.

Uriel was the most like his true self, he decided. Standing off to the side, he was pictured concentrated on a book, not paying any attention to the others. There was a look of absolute peace on his face that far too seldom could be seen on the original's features, though.

Then there was Gabriel. Gabriel, the very reason why he had wanted this painting. His firm, proper, ever flawless brother – although that the artist obviously had not known. Situated between to Raphael and Michael, Uriel being on the other side of Raphael, Gabriel had raised his hand in blessing. Or, rather, her hand – as humans sometimes did, Gabriel had been portrayed as female. This was, in Aziraphale's opinion, more than enough of a reason to give this gift to his brother just to see his reaction.

Aziraphale thought of the real Gabriel as female, and couldn't help but giggle. Gabriel would sooner die than let himself be caught in female form – not because he didn't value women as high as men, no, but because he all too often had to point out that his basic gender identity was that of a male. Some of the older angels were of the opinion that it would be more natural for the Angel of Mercy to be female, while others simply remembered his former, gentler appearance that had indeed been slightly reminiscent of a woman. Whatever was their reason, however, Gabriel didn't like it. A proof that humans had the same misconceptions about him should prove to cause interesting reactions.

Of course, this wasn't necessarily a nice thing to do. However, Aziraphale thought that sometimes little brothers just had to be annoying. Otherwise their older siblings' existences would have been too easy.

With another very non-angelic giggle, Aziraphale took the painting and started to make his way up to Heaven.

* * *

"You, Aziraphale, are an insufferable brat." 

"Why, thank you," Aziraphale said, grinning at the Warrior who had just appeared on the door of his room. "Is that the proper way for an angel to greet another?"

"Don't give me that," Michael said, chuckling. "I already saw that painting. Gabriel didn't seem too happy with humans at the moment, really. I foresee an extremely pissed-off archangel lashing out at anybody who even looks like they are thinking of him as non-male."

The younger angel's grin got even wider. "My mission is a success, then," he said happily. "He needs to get knocked down a peg or two every now and then – not that I expect him to go for Pride, of course. I'm just performing my brotherly duties to the best of my abilities to make sure he stays humble and proper as is appropriate for an angel."

"That must be the most elaborate reasoning I have ever heard for being a brat," Uriel said dryly, appearing in the doorway behind his lover. "I must say, however, that it is quite amusing. Too bad Gabriel doesn't see it as such."

"I didn't really expect him to," Aziraphale admitted. "Gabriel can be awfully non-amused when it comes to other people making mistaken assumptions about his gender. You'd almost think he isn't secure with his male identity."

"Well, it is rather improbable that all four archangels are male," Michael said with a smirk. "That, or we should perhaps listen to those female angels complaining that all the top positions have been reserved for men on purpose."

"That is ridiculous," Uriel huffed. "We were placed as archangels far before there was such a thing as genders. That we all would assume primarily male identity is just a coincidence. I would prove this by being female for a while if that wasn't very probable to make Gabriel even more annoyed."

"Well, male or female, you'd still be perfect," Michael commented. "This whole fuss about us not being equal is indeed ridiculous, though. If there is a woman who would like to challenge me, go ahead. If they win me I'll gladly give my position to them. It's just that to this date I have not met a woman who would be willing to challenge me."

"It's probably the lack of testosterone," Aziraphale mused. "Women do not feel the urge to rush into impossible battles with opponents they know they cannot win. That is a major failing in most warriors, you know. Most of your warriors are male because of the physical advantage, but they are more excitable in battle."

"If they are good enough, they don't get too excited," the Warrior pointed out. "And if you're a young, aggressive angel, it doesn't mean anything whether you're male or female. And don't look at me like that," he then continued. "You were never aggressive. Even when you were young, you were too skilled to get overly excited."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said. Then, he grinned. "Equality or not, though, I don't think anybody has ever thought of you as female."

"That's too right," Michael said, grinning. "Find one artist who'd paint a picture of me as a woman without being told to do so and I will be a woman for a month." After a second's pause, he said, "No, Uriel doesn't count."

"What a pity." The one who said this, with a mild grin, was Uriel instead of Aziraphale.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Shapes 


	41. Shapes

**Disclaimer:** I own very little. 

* * *

**041. Shapes**

* * *

Aziraphale blinked. He had come to the training field, expecting to find Michael and perhaps Uriel there, supervising the warriors. What he did find, however, was everybody forming a large circle. This usually happened when Michael paired some of the better warriors together for a mock battle. As far as Aziraphale could see, though, the battle was already over. An angel lay curled on the ground, apparently in great pain. Over him stood another angel, smaller than most angels Aziraphale had ever seen. She had minimal armour over a simple white dress, which formed a clear contrast with her black hair and dark skin. As though sensing Aziraphale's approach, she turned to look at him, a hint of amusement in her green eyes. 

...Wait a minute. There were very few angels with dark skin, and the eye colour... "Uriel?" gasped Aziraphale. "What on Earth..."

"Nothing much," replied a cheerful voice from his right. "Just a little lesson, nothing else."

"Michael?" Aziraphale turned towards the Marshall. "Would you care to explain just why Uriel is female? And what kind of a lesson are you talking about, exactly?"

"This one idiot," Michael pointed at the warrior withering on the ground, "claimed that women should not be allowed into Heaven's Army because they are supposedly less capable than men. In fact, he went as far as to say that even genderless angels should be thought less valuable as warriors. Well, I then told him that I believed otherwise, and that I would face him in combat in female form right away to prove my belief correct."

"So what are you doing here on the edge of the field, then?" asked Aziraphale. "Didn't he agree to your suggestion?"

"Unsurprisingly not," Michael replied. "Neither would he face any of my generals – even those who are primarily female. Then he agreed to fight if his opponent was not one of my forces."

"And then you took the closest person available, who just happened to be Uriel," Aziraphale continued dryly. "What would he have proven, anyway, if he, as a warrior, had won somebody not equally trained in the art of battle?"

"That's beyond me," Michael replied, shrugging. "Now, as he actually lost the battle, he has proven himself to be an idiot."

"Well, he probably didn't expect to go against a general," Aziraphale pointed out. "Not that Raphael is much of a warrior, mind you, but Gabriel and Uriel certainly haven't earned their general's feathers solely due to their status as archangels. Don't you fear he might claim the battle unfair?"

"What are you talking about?" Uriel asked calmly. "My value as a warrior is mostly due to my mastery of the Presence. However, I can't use that against an angel. So, if I, a knife-wielding woman little more than half of his size can win him, a sword-swinging, tall man, I do think it has been proven that female body does not make one less capable of fighting."

"How did you win him, anyway?" asked Aziraphale curiously. "I don't see any large wounds on him anywhere. What got him on the ground?"

"A simple fact of life," Michael answered in his lover's stead. "The fact being, anybody idiotic enough to make a full male effort in a battle where the opponent is known to use dirty tricks deserves to lose."

"In other words, I kneed him in the crotch," Uriel said dryly. "Maybe next time he will be more aware of the disadvantages of a male body in comparison with a female one." She flung her hair over her shoulder. "Let this be a lesson to you all," she then said loudly, glancing around at their audience. "The ability of an individual is not in their apparent gender but in their skill and wits. If anybody would like to claim that I won unfairly, they are welcome to fight with me. I promise not to go for any sensitive bits this time." She smiled coolly, her usual open and smiling attitude completely away.

Nobody stepped forth.

"So, from now on, all sexists can keep their misguided opinions to themselves," Michael announced. "An angel's gender or lack thereof is everybody's personal choice, not any reason for me or anybody else to discriminate anybody. Also," he then added, "if I ever find out that anybody, and I do mean anybody, has made a full male effort while fighting a demon, I'll send them to Raphael as trainee healers, since their place is clearly not on the battlefield. We may fight fairly, but our enemies won't. Do not ever, not even for a minute, forget that, or you lose."

"Why the long hair, Uriel?" asked Aziraphale a moment later as they made their way away from the training field. "Is it especially favoured by females nowadays?"

"Nah. It just makes for a more dramatic effect," Uriel replied with a slight smile, at the same time shaking her head. The long tresses fell away, leaving behind the usual short curls. "I'm an artist first and foremost, Aziraphale. I may not look like it, but I always think about appearances – especially when it's a performance of some kind. In such things, appearances are truly important."

"Why are you still female, then?" asked Michael. "The performance is already over."

"Oh, I just thought I'd try it out for a while. Don't you like it?" asked Uriel with a mischievous glance.

Michael grinned. "I never said that."

"Gabriel might get annoyed, though," Uriel then said. "He still hasn't gotten completely over that one painting... Ah, well. It's not my problem, is it?" She smiled in slight amusement. The expression was so painfully familiar that Aziraphale ached inwardly at the mere sight of it. Sure, it was definitely better to see Uriel smiling than depressed, but he couldn't help but remember how he had heard Uriel laugh in the old days. The archangel hadn't laughed even once since the... incident.

Neither Michael nor Uriel seemed to notice the change in his mood. Michael just smiled, settling a hand on Uriel's shoulder and drawing her closer. Usually he would have placed an arm on the other's shoulders, but their difference in height was too large for that right now.

Aziraphale did wonder, though. Just how strong were Michael's love and loyalty for him to cling to what little affection he could receive? Treasuring, remembering the rare moments when Uriel's strong emotions surfaced only to fade again, never knowing when he would feel them again? What could it be like to love somebody so much that you stayed by them even though you couldn't even know for sure whether they loved you back?

It was very difficult to imagine. Fortunately, Aziraphale would never have to experience it himself. After all, he hardly would fall in love with anyone, never mind with a being incapable of normal angelic love.

Or so he thought.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Triangle 


	42. Triangle

**Disclaimer:** I own very little. 

* * *

**042. Triangle**

* * *

Of course, he should have been happy. He should have reported is as a great triumph. An angel committing adultery with a human? Precious, just precious. The people back in Hell would have laughed themselves silly.

For some reason, though, he didn't feel like rejoicing. In fact, he didn't feel like reporting it at all. Rather he felt like going to the angel, grasping on his shoulders, shaking him a bit and asking just what the Heaven he thought he was doing. Didn't Aziraphale realize he could Fall for things like that? Crowley didn't want to start over with a new angel. He was comfortable with Aziraphale. They worked well together. With a new angel he would have to fight and battle and bear all the "vile serpents" that might be actually meant this time. And there would be no more comfortable dinners and drunken conversations and leisurely walks and friendly arguments and rearranged duties for everybody's best interest. That would be... unpleasant.

Also, the thought of Aziraphale having absolutely anything to do with that idiot was rather unsettling. Aziraphale was the angel, right? So he was meant to be pure and unsullied and whatnot. Definitely not something an idiotic human should get their hands at.

Of course Aziraphale claimed it had been perfectly innocent and whatnot. Just friends, he claimed. Simply talking and discussing the latest news, and heavens, if the man's books weren't good. Although his way of living was a bit uncomfortable, but that couldn't be helped, could it? He was just a human, after all, they were vulnerable to certain vices. Nothing beyond that had happened, not ever, he wouldn't go committing adultery or anything.

The angel lied, Crowley suspected. He couldn't tell for sure – he wasn't as sensitive to angelic sins as to those committed by humans – but he knew there was more to it than Aziraphale would tell him.

It was unfair, really. If anybody slept with Aziraphale, by any right it should have been him. He'd been around the angel since before the beginning of Time. And now, when he just took a little nap, some human came and messed around with his ang – err, his counterpart? Not that he'd wanted Aziraphale or anything, Hell forbid, they were strictly allies, but he had at least more right to the angel than a random crazy writer.

Hopefully Aziraphale would come to his senses soon and stop moaning about his friend's fate. The guy had been begging for it, they way he behaved in such a time and age. Where had he thought he was? Sodom and Gomorrah? This was 19th century Britain!

Until Aziraphale came around, though, there was little he could do but wait. Mostly he hoped he could just go to sleep for another century or two, but the thought of what the angel might get up to during that time stopped him. The next thing he knew he'd wake up to find the angel hosting an orgy full of underage boys.

A shudder ran through his spine. Now, that was one mental image he had not needed.

* * *

Aziraphale sighed. Wine did not taste as good as it usually did. He tried to ignore the nagging suspicion that this had something to do with the fact that he was drinking alone. After all, he had been drinking alone for almost a century while Crowley had been sleeping. But then... then, it hadn't felt like this. While Crowley was asleep, he was asleep. Unavailable. Now he was very much awake – well, most of the day, anyway – but he was purposefully ignoring Aziraphale. And that was much, much worse than just not being there. 

Or was it like that? Was Aziraphale himself the one avoiding Crowley, or even driving the demon away? That was possible. He had made it quite clear he wanted a break from the demon's suspicions. But really, it had been ridiculous. Crowley should have known him better than that. Oscar and he had been strictly friends, nothing else. What ever had made Crowley think there had been something more between them?

He should try to explain it, he thought. Maybe this time Crowley would even believe him. A peaceful conversation over a good dinner and some fine wine was what they needed, surely. A conversation between two mature, sensible beings – exactly what he needed. There had been so much happening during the century, too. He was sure Crowley wanted to catch up as soon as possible. And he still hadn't even told Aziraphale just why he had gone to sleep at the first place!

Yes, that was it. He would arrange for a dinner for the two of them and ask Crowley to join him. After enough pleading e should get the demon to agree.

Rising from the table, he left the half-finished wine exactly where it had been. He didn't feel like finishing it right now.

Not without Crowley there.

* * *

In the end, it took very little. A good dinner and fine wine were indeed involved, as was some drunken conversation, stupid jokes, sharp questions and embarrassed answers on both of their parts, and finally a mutual agreement not to bring the topic up ever again. Crowley even went as far as to suggest that they should sleep together through the rest of the century – "Sleep, angel, strictly sleep, no sex involved, so please don't choke on your wine," – which Aziraphale refused and instead suggested they should find something else to do. In the end they ended up taking a walk to St. James's Park and feeding the ducks there. All in all, it felt comfortably normal in the end. 

Crowley made a vague promise not to sleep through any more centuries "without a sufficient reason". Aziraphale, on his part, promised not to get involved with any "shady characters". Both insisting that they had done nothing wrong, though, neither one apologized. They were just fine with this.

Quite some time later they would look back to this incident and laugh, or at least share amused glances and perhaps a slight flush on Aziraphale's part. Right now, though, they were perfectly satisfied with just talking, sinking and un-sinking ducks, and repeatedly forgetting to sober up.

Some things were best dealt with while drunk, anyway.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Square 


	43. Square

**Disclaimer:** I own very little. 

* * *

**043. Square**

* * *

The square was full of people. It had been like that for quite a few days, and the number of people only seemed to be growing. Despite all the activity there, however, nobody seemed to notice the two figures standing in one corner of the square. 

"This is not going to end well," muttered one of them, the one with dark hair. "Let me tell you, this is going to get ugly…"

"Now, my dear, don't be so negative all the time," said the other one. He didn't sound too sure about it himself.

They had been observing the situation for several days now. At first Aziraphale had been delighted at this protest in the name of freedom, but now he was becoming more and more doubtful. Whether there truly was something bad in the air or whether it was just Crowley's doubts rubbing off on him, he didn't know, but he certainly couldn't ignore it.

Crowley, on his part, had at first been absolutely gleeful at the promise of chaos hidden in the protest. As days dragged on, however, he had become more and more cynical, making ominous comments about the Spanish Inquisition and other such things Aziraphale would have rather forgotten. By the time Crowley had got into describing a rather detailed memory of a witch trial Aziraphale had told him to shut up or be left alone. The demon had stopped his stories, but kept making comments about how human nature was bound to cause things to turn bad.

"You don't understand, angel," he thus said again. "These are humans. And so are those in the government. And as they are indeed humans, there is no way this will end in freedom and peace and blah blah blah to everyone. A protest in Hell would have more hopes of getting through. Lucifer's not the most agreeable of beings, true, but even he can be persuaded to change his mind sometimes. Humans are the most stubborn beings He ever Created and they seem proud of it."

"What about that thing you are always saying, then?" Aziraphale asked. "That the greatest good can be found in humans, not angels?"

"That's too true," Crowley muttered. "However, in case you have forgotten the second part of what I've said, in them can also be found the greatest evil. And let me tell you, not even the vilest slimy demon in the deepest corner of Hell could even hope to get close to the true evil spirit of humans. My reports on humanity's tricks are used as learning material for little demons who want to be even more nasty and evil than their parents."

"Rather pessimistic," Aziraphale observed. However, like Crowley noticed, he didn't try to deny it.

The demon wasn't sure whether to feel happy or upset about this.

"Those poor dears look so hungry," Aziraphale noted some time later. "Why won't they eat anything?"

"Because they are on a hunger strike," Crowley replied dryly. "I wonder what they are hoping to accomplish by that. It's not like anybody will listen to them anyway."

"I hate you," sighed Aziraphale. "You'll soon infect me with your cynicism."

"Look, angel, I'm ready to bet you are already the most cynic angel in existence," the demon said. "And even that is not enough when it's humans in question. Think about it logically. What would those in charge care even if all of those people died of hunger? Who will really miss them, aside from perhaps their friends and family, if they have any? This won't change anything and you know it."

This time, Aziraphale remained silent. However, again he didn't deny the truth behind Crowley's words.

"Maybe we should tell them that it's no use," Crowley said suddenly. "The world is going to end in a couple of years anyway, so it doesn't really matter whether they manage to change anything. Soon enough they will all be dead."

"But perhaps those couple of years could be happier than they will be with no change," Aziraphale tried. "And besides, every moment of life is precious."

"Then they should all leave," the demon pointed out. "Here, they will only shorten their lives. They need to leave and return to their homes and live what little time they have left before the soldiers come and slaughter everybody."

"Surely it wouldn't come to that," Aziraphale said, but he didn't sound like he believed his words himself. Rather he was saying it just because he had to – angels were supposed to hope, after all. Hope was a virtue.

They stayed in their corner of the square, annoying passers-by and relieving the hunger of those who wouldn't eat, each what they best could do. The tension grew and, just like the humans, they waited for something to happen that would resolve the situation. Sooner or later, something was going to happen – and, despite his desperate attempts at staying hopeful, Aziraphale couldn't help the feeling that it was going to be something bad.

Then, coming as something of a surprise no matter how long they had been waiting for it, the attack began.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley froze, then faded completely out of the sight of normal humans., having previously only been very, very easy to ignore Aziraphale cringed as the shooting began, knowing he should help, but also knowing that one angel's powers would not do any difference in such a situation. If he saved one person, they might be shot later, unless he chose to guard them. In any case he couldn't defend everybody, and then how should he choose those to defend?

The protesters sought safety from the buses they had burned, but were dragged out. Nobody could even leave the square without being attacked. Everybody and anybody within sight was in danger of death – including the soldiers. And however much it horrified them, they couldn't really do anything to stop it. It was too massive, too large-scale, too... human.

For a moment, the demon just stared, too stunned to move. Then, he turned around. "I think, angel," he said with a strained voice, "I think I need to get very, very drunk."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest. Then, however, he closed his mouth and nodded, very pale. Turning his back to the square, he followed Crowley away.

Even if Aziraphale had been in a habit of regular sleeping, he would have been unable to sleep that night. Crowley certainly was.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Circle 


	44. Circle

**Disclaimer:** I own very little. 

* * *

**044. Circle**

* * *

"Good afternoon, Aziraphale." 

Aziraphale was mildly surprised to hear this particular voice in his circle of light. "Uriel? Is it you?" he asked.

"Were you expecting somebody else?" Uriel asked, sounding faintly amused. "Michael's out for the day so I decided to take the call for him. Of course, if you had some intimate business with him, you can call later."

"Don't be silly," Aziraphale huffed. "I just have to give a report and I didn't feel like writing it down."

"Because all written correspondence goes through the hands of Gabriel's men, correct?" Uriel inquired.

Aziraphale didn't bother to answer, for they both knew it was true. "I don't understand what's his problem, anyway. Nobody else I've talked with – not that there are many – even remembers the whole incident anymore. Why is he so stuck on it?"

"As your brother, he has had to hear about it quite a bit," Uriel revealed, sounding just a bit reprimanding. "I'd imagine he is a bit annoyed at the whole commotion."

Aziraphale sighed. "I guess it can't be helped," he muttered. "What about the others I haven't been in contact with? Are they all mad at me?" It was good, actually, that it was Uriel who had taken the call. As the archangel had not wished him to the lowest pits of Hell yet, he knew that Uriel could at most be mildly annoyed at him. Mildly annoyed he could handle. It was definitely better than Gabriel's biting coldness.

"Michael has got over it already, so don't worry about the report," Uriel soothed him. "At first he was annoyed, but then he decided to use all this extra time on his advantage to hone the skills of his warriors. Raphael is secretly glad, I believe, although he would never reveal that to Gabriel – apparently he is in no hurry to heal half of the Heavenly Host. Most angels don't even know who did and what, and those who do – your former fellow generals, for example – seem to either not care or support your views. Canael in particular kept grinning constantly for a whole month. Apparently he thought it was a great joke in some way."

"Well, at least not all of Heaven is against me, then," Aziraphale sighed. After a moment of hesitation, he asked, "What about you, then?" With Uriel's rather limited range of emotions, he'd probably better know whether it was indeed mild annoyance or something else the archangel felt over his little act of rebellion. Annoyance he could handle, but it might still get troublesome.

"Me? I don't really care either way, to be honest," Uriel replied to the other angel's great relief. "It happened, and without any serious consequences, too, so it had to be by His Will. In a way, I guess I'm glad, though," he then added thoughtfully. "When the Battle arrives, many will die, no matter how it all ends. And, I fear, many will Fall."

"Good," the Principality said. "One annoyed archangel is about all I can take at the moment."

"I'm sure Gabriel will come around sooner rather than later. Well, for a given value of sooner, anyway. You are more important to him than you even know."

"I wonder," said Aziraphale. "Although I hardly could be any less important to him than he lets me understand," he added in a bitter murmur.

"Now, now," Uriel chastised in something bordering on amusement. "He does love you; I can feel it whenever he talks about you."

"Sorry," Aziraphale replied. "He just has been very difficult lately. Anyway... how are things in Heaven otherwise? Any particular difficulties?"

"Not that I know of," the archangel replied. "Not that I'm always the most informed person when it comes to difficulties in Heaven, of course. But we had an archangels' meeting yesterday and nobody reported anything significant, so I guess the situation is quite okay."

"A meeting of how many archangels, exactly?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"Still four," Uriel replied with something close to a sigh. "Some are trying to change that, but I'm going to resist until the very end. The public opinion seems to lean towards the direction of us needing seven archangels, like humans believe we have. I wonder if they think we aren't fulfilling our duties properly."

Aziraphale shook his head in sympathy. Simply giving up music to Israfel had been hard to Uriel, and that had been the part about his duties he least liked. It wasn't that he was too proud or attached to his position – still the most usual reasons for an angel to Fall – just that he desperately wanted to prove his worth. At least, that was how Aziraphale figured it. He would have never dared to say it aloud – saying such a thing about an archangel couldn't have led to anything good.

"So, how is your report, then?" Uriel asked. "Give as much or little details as you'd like to. I can weave a pretty tale to Michael anyway that's just about as truthful and probably more pleasant than anything you could come up with."

"My, my, an archangel encouraging untruthfulness?" Aziraphale tried to sound shocked but failed. "I'm very disappointed, Uriel."

"I prefer to think of it as artistic licence," Uriel said lightly. "It's not like I'm going to lie anyway. I swear to be just as truthful as you have been in your reports until now."

Aziraphale shook his head again. His reports in the last seven or eight centuries had mostly consisted of half-truths and exaggerating. "Fighting with a demon" sounded much better in a report than "argued over what wine to drink over dinner", didn't it? And everybody was a lot happier that way.

So, he gave his usual report, putting more weight on little arguments than they ever could have got in real life, pointing out irrelevant details, and dubbing a victory in a match of Chess "a glorious triumph over the powers of darkness". The greatest thing he had actually done in his battle against the forces of darkness was not letting Crowley run over a few more pedestrians with that car of his (or, like he told Uriel, "saving countless lives from the evils of beings of darkness"), but that hardly mattered.

Aziraphale knew Crowley was doing the exactly same thing with his own reports, only the demon didn't have to worry about lying. He wondered, really, what the demon would call the fact that he had lost their other game of Chess. (As he later discovered, it had been called "causing a pure ruler to fall under the temptation of an evil woman". Apparently this evil woman – Crowley's queen piece – had also led into temptation "several clergymen" – or, rather, the two white bishop pieces.) So, he had no qualms about thus using the demon on his advantage.

Uriel accepted his words without any further comments. "I shall forward your report to Michael," he finally said. "Was there anything else?"

"Not at the moment," Aziraphale replied. "Unless you had something to say?"

"Well... If Gabriel contacts you, be polite," Uriel said. "Don't forget a single 'sir' or he'll probably demote you. I'll let you know when he has calmed down enough to be sensible again."

"I'll remember," sighed the Principality. "Goodbye, then, Uriel, and God be with you."

"May the Presence be with you," Uriel replied.

And, as Aziraphale returned to his usual chores, he actually could believe it would be, at least for another moment.

* * *

**Next Prompt:** Moon 


	45. Moon

Disclaimer: I own very little.

* * *

045. Moon

* * *

It was, as was only to be expected, the night of a full moon. After all, nothing else could have created the mood required. Not that it was truly required by some obscure set of rules or anything, no, but humans felt better about things when they were done the way they had always been done, and since traditions were so nice and often less harmful than creating new ways of doing things, Aziraphale had never bothered to correct them. Especially in things such as this. It would have been disastrous, in his opinion, to let people know that the light of full moon actually weakened their rites. They did enough damage as it was.

Still, he thought it was quite silly as he watched the young man chanting his incantations before a carefully crafted magic circle. He couldn't blame the poor boy for placing so many protective seals, he definitely was going to need them if he wanted to summon a demon, but were all those candles and the black robes truly necessary? And the poor chickens, why did they have to lose their blood too? It didn't do any good. The spell would have managed just as well without it.

Not that the spell was really powerful, no. It was just about enough to call the closest demon in the near vicinity. Or, in the rather unlikely case that the said demon just happened to be taking a week-long holiday just then, whoever he had directed his non-infernal calls to. And however much the spell perhaps tried to target a demon, it was not infernal in origin and was thus redirected to the person taking care of the said calls.

Which explained why Aziraphale now stood in the middle of the magic circle and tried his best to look as menacing as he could. Unfortunately, it was not very menacing.

"I have appeared before thee," he said with his best booming voice. It was a very good booming voice. Gabriel would have undoubtedly been proud of him if not for the fact that they weren't really talking. "Why have thou summoned me?"

"I – I have summoned you to serve my will," the boy squeaked with a slightly nervous voice. "I have sealed you. You can't hurt me." Okay, scratch that 'slightly nervous'. More like 'openly terrified'.

Aziraphale glanced around. Yes, the seals were properly in place – such a rare thing nowadays; so many of the old things had been forgotten. The boy was lucky, really, to have only found such a weak summoning curse. Even if the seals had failed, the worst Crowley would have done might have been some misfortune, more annoying than harmful. And although the seals didn't work on Aziraphale at all – after all, they had been designed to hold down a demon, not an angel – it wasn't like he was going to do anything bad to the poor boy, right?

"Speak thy will," he boomed. Too bad the spell didn't really bind him into the boy's will aside from arriving and staying inside the summoning circle. If the wish wasn't too bad, he might even fulfil it – otherwise, Crowley would yell at him for spoiling his reputation. Of course, if he could encourage the poor boy to abandon such unsightly things and seek entertainment from other sources, it would one be for the best.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," the boy said, now daring to take his first proper look at Aziraphale as – he was convinced – the demon was properly called and sealed. His eyes widened slightly. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "You know, I never expected a Hellish demon to be so…"

* * *

The boy was simply staring at the air in front of him. He never said a word.

Though there was nothing wrong with him, the doctors said, he apparently couldn't make any connection with the real world. It was as though there had been an invisible wall between him and the rest of the world that they simply couldn't penetrate. A medical wonder of the worst kind, they said.

Of course, people were quick to think of other explanations, especially those who knew a little of the shady dealings surrounding this tragedy. This is what you get for dabbling with the occult, they said. This is why you shouldn't mess with powers you do not understand, they said. The poor boy had put his nose into things that were none of his business and was punished for it. He had likely lost his mind completely.

Had he been able to speak properly, the boy might have told them he wasn't insane. Really, he wasn't. Although why his mind had chosen to show him Sound of Music on endless repeat if he wasn't was anybody's guess.

Especially since he had never ever seen Sound of Music before.

* * *

Crowley looked very, well, relaxed. Tanned and energetic and generally good. Of course, this was what he always looked like; a rich, good-looking bastard who had entirely too much leisure time. It might have been an effect of his powers. Or it might have been simply because he was a rich, good-looking bastard who had entirely too much leisure time.

"Oh, Aziraphale!" he exclaimed as he spotted his friend. "How did it go? Were there any problems?"

"…This is the last time I'm taking your calls."

"That bad, huh?" The demon raised an eyebrow. "What was it this time? Had some idiotic brat sacrificed a kitten for his magic circle or what?"

Aziraphale muttered something unintelligible. Crowley raised another eyebrow in a silent, demanding, 'What was that?'

After a lot of grumbling and mumbling, the angel finally managed to produce an audible response. "He dared call me fat."

"Oooh, Vanity." Crowley cackled. "Getting bad on our old age, aren't we? Look out, Aziraphale – Hell's pension plan is lousy."

The angel's response was entirely unfitting of an angel and definitely not suitable for printing.

Crowley, as was only to be expected, merely laughed in reply.


End file.
